


Destiny Diverted

by KatieSkarlette



Series: Wrathion's Life Story [4]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Family Secrets, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Original Character(s), Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3150632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieSkarlette/pseuds/KatieSkarlette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets from the past, unexpected developments in the present, and uncertainties about the future swirl around the Black Prince as his time in Pandaria draws to a close…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

As usual, Wrathion arose shortly after dawn and wandered downstairs to see what Tong had prepared for breakfast.  The table was loaded with traditional fare this morning:  an egg dish with bread, fruit and sausages on the side.

He sat down at his usual place and accepted a handful of mail from Left.  Remembering Cybela's lectures, he ignored the bowl of fruit and started right in on one of the sausages.  It was cooked, alas, but at least it was meat.  As he ate he glanced through the papers.  

A report from one of his agents in the Townlong Steppes...   Status quo with both the yaungol and the mantid, it appeared.  Fine.

A missive from an observer he had stationed in Silvermoon...   You never knew what those clever blood elves were going to get into next.

A note from an operative in the Exodar...  Yes, the Draenei were very aware of the continued threat of the Burning Legion.  They would be an asset when the time came...

Wrathion picked up a pair of chopsticks with practiced ease and shoveled some of the eggs into his mouth while continuing to sort the mail.

A request from his agent in Booty Bay for more funds...   There was plenty of information to be gathered there, but it never came cheaply when goblins were involved.  Not a problem.  His innate connection to the earth made it trivial to find more precious gems and ore.

A letter from an informant in Silithis...  No signs of renewed activity from C'thun.  Good, good.  It never hurt to check.

"Something smells good," came a youthful female voice from the foot of the stairs.

Tong set out a second place at the Black Prince's table.

Cybela came up behind Wrathion and put her arms around his shoulders.  "What are you reading?"

"I believe I warned you about snooping into my private correspondence," he said without looking up from his letter.

"I was just trying to make conversation.   Yeesh."  She went over to the other side of the table and sat down between Left and Right.  The guards ignored her.  She took a bite of the sausage first, just as he had.   "Mmm, this is really good!"

Tong smiled and bowed from across the room.

"What is it?"  She took another bite and chewed more slowly.  "It's not fowl...  Not pork...  Definitely not fish..."

"It's mushan," Wrathion said absently, still perusing his mail.

"Those huge lizard things that roam the valley south of here?"

"Among other places."

"Whoa.  Those guys are huge!  I bet it takes a lot to bring one down."  There was a wistful tone to her voice that Wrathion recognized.  She, too, longed for the day when she would be strong enough to hunt like a true dragon.

"There is no shortage of champion hunters in Pandaria," he said before taking another bite of eggs.  "Although, mushan are domesticated as beasts of burden more often than they are hunted for their meat.   They may be more difficult to handle than the common yak, but their strength makes them prized draft animals.  Fortunately the domestic variety lives for an average of one hundred years, and they never completely stop growing, so they're a worthwhile investment for most farmers.  Skeletal similarities indicate they share a common ancestor with the kodo and thunder lizards of Kalimdor, though they lack the latter's ability to generate electrical charges.  Considering the mogu penchant for weaponizing lightning, that's probably fortunate."

Cybela looked at him with a surprised expression.   "Wow.  I didn't ask for a complete natural history of the mushan, but thanks for the lesson."

"Well, I--"  He felt his cheeks darken with embarrassment and took a drink of tea to help compose himself.  "Knowledge is power."

She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

He scowled at her.   "What's funny about that?"

"I'm sorry, it's just--  I don't think knowledge about kodo skeletons is going to help defeat demons."  She giggled.

"You never know what might come in handy," he said defensively.

"No, I suppose not."  She took a sip of tea.   "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine," he said sharply, giving her a warning glare.   Discussion of his illness in public was strictly prohibited.

Cybela rolled her eyes.  "I was asking because I thought it might be a good day to go hunting together."

Wrathion froze with his teacup halfway to his mouth.   "Oh?"

"The weather looks nice, and if you feel up to it..."

"I certainly do," he said indignantly.

She gave one of those beatific, compassionate smiles that always made him oddly uncomfortable.  He wasn't used to dealing with someone who had no selfish, hidden motives.  "I'm so glad."

He sniffed dismissively and focused on the letter in front of him.

"We don't have to go far," she continued.   "Just a little outing to get some fresh air, exercise, and _fresh_ meat."  She held up one of the mushan sausages and raised an eyebrow.   "Although I have to admit these are really tasty."

"Mmm, yes, well, I can't stay gone too long.  There is still a backlog of correspondence to attend to and champions to meet."

"Of course," she said through a mouthful of food, then swallowed.  "You probably won't have the energy for a long excursion, anyway."

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she again ignored his warning.

"So does your flight hunt with earth powers, somehow?   Or just track, pounce, and kill?"

Wrathion stirred his tea, watching the swirling liquid instead of making eye contact.  "I wouldn't know.  The only member of my flight I ever hunted with refused to leave human form.  Besides, it's been ten millenia since black dragons had full control of their powers over the earth element.  Any traditional methods they might have had are lost to the ages."

"Oh.  Right."  Her voice sounded so sad that he was glad he wasn't looking at her to see the pity in her golden eyes.   "Well, I can teach you how the reds do it."

"Not necessary," he said airily.  "I am perfectly capable of bringing down prey when I must."

"We'll see..."

The challenge in her voice made him finally look up, and he met her expectant smirk with a sneer.  "Yes, we will.  Left, Right, make sure I have no appointments in the early afternoon.  Your services will not be required while Cybelastrasza and I are on our...errand."

 

* * *

 

Noon brought a crowd of adventurers into the Tavern in the Mists, both for lunch and to meet with the Black Prince.  Tong was happy to accommodate them with a meal, but a certain black dragon was nowhere to be found.

"What a beautiful day!" Cybela gushed as they flew up the hill toward Mason's Folly.  "Not too hot, not too cold, sun shining...just perfect!"

Wrathion said nothing, letting her ramble while he conserved his strength for flying.  He felt fine at the moment but was determined to keep it that way.  When they reached the top of the slope he fluttered down to land on the stone railing.  

She plopped down beside him.  "Oh, what a view!" she gasped.

"This is my favorite spot in all of Pandaria," he said grandly.  "I come here often to think and get away from the hustle and bustle of the tavern."

"I can see why.  It's gorgeous!  Look at all the greenery!  And isn't it amazing how trees manage to take root even way high up on those pillars of rock?"

He tilted his head in thought.  "Yes, I suppose it is.  I've always been more interested in how those pillars were formed in the first place.  Was it natural erosion, or some of my _dear_ father's ancient handiwork?"

Cybela smiled and shook her head.  "Figures.   I'm a red dragon so I see the life; you're a black dragon so you see the earth."

He blinked.  "I see the life, too.  It's all connected, after all."

She looked relieved to hear him say this.   "Yes, it is."  She leaned forward to nuzzle her nose affectionately against his cheek, then sprang into the air again.  "Last one to the river's a stinky saurok!"  With that she dived straight down.

It took Wrathion a moment to understand what she meant.   Then he launched himself off the railing and plummeted downward.  The rocky face of the cliff was a blur as they shot downward like two arrows, angling their trajectory out from the wall to aim for the nearby river.  The blue ribbon of water below grew larger and larger, and the details of the current and the reeds along the riverbank became visible.

Despite his best efforts, she had a head start on him, and he saw her stretch out her wings to slow her descent mere feet above the water's surface, then alight gracefully on a rock sticking out of the river.  He arrived a moment later, purposely landing with as big a splash as possible.  Cybela spluttered and wiped water out of her eyes.

"That was hardly fair, you know," he said, paddling toward her like a scaly dog.  "You can't just announce a race and then start it before the other participant is ready."

"Where is that written?"

"It...  It's common sense, and common courtesy!"

"Wait, which one of us is the black dragon again?" she asked cheekily.

"I beg your pardon!  Just what are you implying?"

She opened her mouth as if to answer, then suddenly dived in front of him, sending a wave of water into his face.

It was war, then.  The two whelps beat the water into a white froth as they used wings, paws and tails to splash each other mercilessly.   Wrathion found himself making sounds he couldn't recall ever making before, copying the playful growls, squeaks and chirps that Cybela made.  He chased her in circles around the rock, and she submerged herself to escape.  He whirled around to look for her just in time to get smacked with another wall of water as she sprang up behind him.   He managed to grab a hold of her briefly but she twisted out of his grasp and splashed him with her feet as she kicked off to swim away.

"Come back here!" he snarled with mock severity, paddling after her as fast as he could.

She shrieked and made a sudden turn to the left, attempting to avoid his latest splash, but he was too quick and managed to both douse her again and close the distance between them.  He pounced on her with what was intended to be a fearsome roar, and they both went under for a moment.

When they resurfaced, Wrathion had a silvery fish crossways in his mouth.  He nearly crossed his eyes looking at it in surprise, and Cybela burst out laughing.

"All right, you win!" she gasped through her giggles.   They swam over to where a rock-strewn beach separated the river from the Jade Forest.  

He bit the fish in half and offered the smaller of the two parts to her.

"Oh, thank you, my prince," she said, approximating a curtsey with her wings.

They were both so out of breath that it was a few minutes later before either one could eat.  They sat on the gravel, panting and laughing and wiping water out of their eyes.  When they had calmed down a bit and eaten their snack, Cybela leaned over and brushed a fish scale off his cheek.

"I'm proud of you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"From what you'd said before, I wasn't sure you knew how to play with a whelp your own age.  I guess it's instinct."

"I'm a very fast learner," he said with a haughty sniff.

She stood up.  "Still up for some hunting?"

"Of course," he said, although he hadn't quite gotten his breathing back to normal yet.

"There should be beavers further upstream."

He grimaced.  "Beavers are similar to otters.   Remember what happened the last time I ate a semi-aquatic mammal?"

"Yes, but you were still adjusting to the proper diet then.  It should be fine, now."

He hesitated, but she was already flying away, so he shook the last drops of water off his wings and followed.

Cybela glanced back and saw him behind her.  Without warning, she veered to the right and disappeared behind a gnarled tree.

Curious, he did the same.  As he came around the side of the tree, a red streak shot out and bowled him over, and he tumbled back into a pile of ferns with a startled screech.

"Gotcha," Cybela cried before continuing on up the riverbank.

"Honestly!" he huffed, hurrying to catch up with the giggling whelp.  "For as much time as you spent nursing me back to health, you seem quite determined to give me fresh bruises."

She stopped and let him catch up to her, grinning mischieveously.  "Nothing's stopping you from fighting back, Your Majesty."   There was a hint of mocking in the way she said his title.  "Playing at fighting and hunting are perfectly normal behaviors for dragons our age, you know."

He didn't really know, of course, which fueled his irritation.   "I already know how to fight.  I've been trained in polearms, daggers, swords, axes--"

He was interrupted by Cybela launching herself at him again, and they rolled over and over until they bumped into a fallen tree trunk.

"Stop that!" he snapped.

"Make me!"

A growl grew from deep in his throat and burst out with a mouthful of flames.  She lunged to the side barely in time to avoid being scorched.

"Hey!  Don't!" she cried.  "No fire!"

"Oh, suddenly there are rules?" he said with a sneer.   He launched himself at her with teeth bared, and she scrambled out of the way.

"Not rules, exactly, just--"  She zig-zagged through the trees as he chased her.  "We're supposed to be practicing--   Ow!"  A chuff of flame singed her tail, and she tumbled onto the ground with a cry of surprised pain.

He swooped down to continue his attack, but the look of genuine fear on her face stopped him in his tracks.

"Stop!"  Cybela clutched her tail, which was streaked with black soot and sported a patch of much darker red than the surrounding scales.  "You're not supposed to actually _hurt_ me!" she said angrily.

Wrathion landed in front of her with a confused frown.   "You _told_ me to fight back."

She inspected the damage to her tail and winced.   "Yeah, but it was _playing_.  It's supposed to be all pouncing and nipping, not...that!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know?" he snapped.

Her expression softened, and she sighed.  "You're right.  I shouldn't have assumed...  I mean, considering...   You're still learning."  She closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath.  Golden light coalesced around her paws and spread to her injured tail.   Tiny vines sprouted from the ground around her, bright yellow flowers unfurling and then fading as she channeled a healing spell.  The red welt grew less pronounced with each passing second, and when she stopped casting only a smear of ash remained.

Wrathion stood and watched in silence, scowling at the unwelcome lump of guilt in his chest.  It wasn't his fault, he told himself.   How was he supposed to know how this "playing" thing worked?  Fahrad certainly never taught him, and he'd never had contact with a fellow whelp before.   No matter how many excuses he thought up, however, he still felt just as ashamed for hurting her.

When she had completed her healing and sighed in visible relief, he offered a paw to help her to her feet.

"Cybela, I...  I'm sorry," he said quietly.   "This is all new to me, and although I can explain exactly how Thoradin's Wall was constructed, or recite the lineage of all the noble houses of Quel'thalas...I'm afraid this sort of thing isn't in my knowledge base."

She regarded him with quiet amusement and just a hint of pity before putting her arms around him and drawing him in for an embrace.  "It's all right, Wrathion.  I understand."  She patted his back, as if he were the one who had been injured.

Her selfless compassion made him cough awkwardly and draw away.   "If you're sufficiently recovered, we can, er, resume the hunt."

"Of course.  This way."  She led him back toward the river and upstream, and he followed with less enthusiasm than before.

 

Plump beavers chased fish and busied themselves gathering sticks just below a small waterfall.  Cybela and Wrathion perched high in a tree where they had a good vantagepoint to watch them.

"They're awfully quick in the water," he observed.

Cybela nodded.  "You have to be really fast.   If they get into the water, there's no catching them.  The trick is to find one who's far enough on land."

"Like that one?"  He pointed to a large specimen sunning itself on a flat rock that was closer to the cliff than the waterfall.

"Just like that one," she said with a grin.   "Good eye."

He puffed himself up proudly.

"It's a little big to take on by myself, and those huge teeth can be very dangerous, but since there are two of us..."   They shared a devious wink.

As quietly as possible, they flew up and around to approach their prey from downwind.

"I'll go for the neck.  You try for the back legs.   Remember, we have to stop it from getting to the water, or it's game over."

Wrathion nodded, not even caring that she was giving him orders.  He deferred to her experience in this case.

"On three," she murmured.  "One...   Two...  Three!"

They tucked in their wings and rocketed downward, landing simultaneously on the beaver's back.  Wrathion first got a mouthful of furry haunch, missing the leg as the beast whacked him with its paddle-like tail.  Cybela struck true on the first try, however, and locked her teeth into the animal's neck.  By the time Wrathion had one rear limb mangled beyond use, she had neatly severed the carotid artery, and the rock beneath turned dark red with the surge of blood.

The other beavers scattered into the water with terrified screeches.

Powerful instincts flooded Wrathion's brain at the smell, and he tore into the carcass in a frenzy, slicing through layers of fur and fat to get at the choicest bits of meat.  Cybela showed him where the best parts were, graciously allowing him to have both the heart and liver.

"You sure?" he said through a mouth so full he could hardly chew.

"Yes," she said with a laugh.  "You still need to be fattened up a bit."  She poked him in the ribs and he gave her a disgusted look but continued stuffing food into his face.  "Just don't eat so fast."

Remembering only too well the terrible stomachache he had after eating the otter, he took her advice and slowed down.

They took their time devouring their meal, cracking open bones to slurp out the marrow, chatting, and enjoying the warm sunshine that baked down on the rock.

"I still don't know why my mother chose a goblin as her last mortal form," Cybela said.  "It must simply have been a matter of fitting in with the rest of the people at Fuselight, because from everything I know about her she wasn't the greedy, conniving type."

"Thankfully she did not use explosives in any of her experiments on my siblings and me," he said wryly.  "Unlike a true goblin."

Cybela laughed.  "Yes, that's definitely a good thing."

Wrathion opened his mouth to make another comment, but instead of words a thunderous belch came out.  He froze with a horrified expression, eyes wide.

Cybela looked at him for a moment before giggling uncontrollably.

"P-pardon me," he stammered.

His companion inhaled through her mouth and replied with a burp that was nearly as loud, if not quite as long.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then both began laughing.  Something about the crudeness of it all made it even funnier than it should have been, and Wrathion found himself wiping tears off his cheeks as he shook with unrestrained laughter.

When they were both full and a bit more composed, they took a brief dip in the river to rinse off the blood.  Cybela resisted the urge to renew their splashing war, as she could tell Wrathion was getting tired.  She let him set the pace as they flew back up the cliff toward Mason's Folly.  Without asking if he needed to rest, she landed on the railing and admired the view while he caught his breath.  At last they made their way back toward the tavern.

A line of champions stretched out the front door and almost to the road.  The two whelps stopped at the sight and hovered high enough up a tree to avoid being seen.

"Oh," he said with a guilty slouch.  "And now you know why I don't take the time to go off hunting on my own."

"You're an awfully popular dragon," she said.

He sighed.  "Duty calls."

"You look exhausted," she finally dared to say.   "You need to rest before launching back into all that."

"I shouldn't keep them waiting," he said reluctantly.  "There could be important news."

"It's probably just more armloads of mogu knicknacks," she sniffed.  "They'll keep."

He hesitated.

"Come on, sneak in an upstairs window.  They won't notice.  You'll feel better after a nap."

He frowned.  "May I vehemently state for the record that I am thoroughly fed up with being so damned _weak_?"

"You may, but you're not weak.  You're recovering.   This was your first outing since your illness.  Don't be too hard on yourself."

It was becoming difficult for him to keep flapping his wings fast enough to hover there, and he hung his head in defeat.  "Very well.   I'll neglect my duties long enough for a short nap.  There's just one problem."

"Oh?"

"The window to my room is always locked for security reasons."

"So we'll go through another one."

Unable to find anything wrong with that plan, he followed her around the back of the tavern, where there were fewer people milling about.  Cybela zipped in the first open window she saw.

"Wait, I think that's--  Oh, for the love of Khaz'goroth," he grumbled when she did not listen.  He heard a surprised cry from inside and came through the window to see Cybela perched on the edge of the table where the Crown Prince of Stormwind was sitting with a quill and stationery.  A splotch of ink on the paper was evidence of his reaction to suddenly having a dragon fly into his room.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, I didn't know this was your room," she was saying.

"It's quite all right," Anduin said with a laugh.   "I just wasn't expecting a whelp to fly through my window."

"Two, actually," Wrathion said in as haughty a tone as he could muster, landing beside her.

"You look really tried."

"Will everyone stop saying that?"  Wrathion bared his teeth and fluffed up his wings.

"We've just been out hunting," Cybela said.

"Oh?  How did that go?"

"Splendid, if a bit...enervating," Wrathion said airily.

"He needs a nap before he faces all those champions lined up downstairs," Cybela added.

"Ah," Anduin said, nodding with understanding.   "Well, go ahead.  I'm just writing a letter to Velen, so I'll be quiet."

"Not _here_ ," Wrathion said, rolling his eyes.   "My window is locked, so we had to...find an alternate route."

"I see."  Anduin gave an amused grin.   "Well, carry on, then."

Cybela shifted back into a red-haired elf, picked up Wrathion, and went to the door.  "Sorry again for barging in on you like that, Prince Anduin."

"It's fine," the human said with a gracious smile.   "Have a good nap."

Wrathion snorted but did not attempt to shift into a human.   He told himself it was to remain less conspicuous in case they met someone in the hallway, but in reality his energy reserves were so depleted that he could barely hold his head up.  Cybela gave a greeting nod to the Blacktalon sentry outside the royal bedroom and slipped inside.  She set the black whelp down on the futon and tucked a blanket around him.

"Wake me in a half hour," Wrathion mumbled, no longer fighting to keep his eyes open.

Cybela grabbed a book and stretched out on the futon between the prince and the wall.  She sat back against a stack of pillows and began to read.   

Already more asleep than awake, Wrathion instinctively edged toward her body heat.  She noticed with a smile and put one hand over his back.   He gave a contented sigh and was soon snoring.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The Black Prince had excused himself from their game to receive a report from one of his champions, so Anduin took the opportunity to stretch his sore legs with a walk around the outside of the tavern.  It was a sunny, unusually warm day, and he began to regret wearing a long-sleeved tunic after just one lap around the building.  He knew regular exercise was necessary if he ever hoped to regain full use of his bad leg, but some days were more taxing than others.

The human prince stopped to lean on the mailbox, trying to decide if he felt up to a stroll across the road to the auction house.  A dwarf paladin noticed him and bowed, which he acknowledged with a smile and a nod.  Nearby an orc was brushing dirt off her armored wolf mount while it drank from a water trough.

Just as Anduin had resigned himself to the necessity of walking further, a night elf's voice rang out.  "My lady!  What a pleasant surprise to find you here!  I have not seen you since the Destroyer's fall.  I trust you are well?"

"I am, thank you.  I am glad to see you well, also," replied a voice overflowing with serenity and benevolence.

Anduin looked up to see a male kaldorei bowing to a...blood elf?  No, she was taller than any true elf, and her eyes were a stunning orange-gold color.  She wore a long gown of crimson silk decorated with pandaren-style embroidery in gold thread.  Thick, bright red hair flowed down her back, and two strangely elegant horns twisted out of her head.  Even more striking than her appearance, however, was the aura of ancient power that radiated from her.  The prince had never seen her in person, but from the tales he had heard, this could only be the former Aspect of Life, Alexstrasza.

The regal "elf" noticed him staring immediately and greeted him with a warm smile that bizarrely conjured up thoughts of his late mother.  "Prince Anduin Wrynn," she said.   "It is truly a pleasure to meet you."

"Lady Alexstrasza, I'm deeply honored," Anduin said, bowing as low as he would to any foreign monarch.  He wasn't sure if she was considered the dragonqueen anymore, but her age and experience alone made her more than worthy of such respect.

Her brow furrowed.  "You are in pain."

Anduin shrugged and gestured at his cane.  "I'm still recovering from some injuries."

Alexstrasza stooped and reached out a hand toward his bad leg, then hesitated.  "May I...?"

He wasn't entirely sure what she intended, but trusted her.   "Of course."

She laid her hands gently on either side of his knee and squinted in concentration.  Immediately a sensation akin to the first warm sunlight of spring blossomed across his leg, easing the pain and stiffness.  It was similar to the Holy Light, but subtly different in a way that left him acutely aware of every breath he took and every beat of his heart.

Alexstrasza stood up and regarded him with sympathy, but not pity.  It was a subtle difference which he appreciated.  "You have been through much, young prince.  I am sorry I cannot erase all your ills, but for the moment...a bit of relief, I hope."

He flexed his knee slowly and raised his eyebrows at how easily it moved.  "More than a bit.  Thank you very much."

"It is the least I can do."

Anduin was about to ask why she had come to Pandaria when four Blacktalon agents hurried out the front door of the tavern with weapons drawn.  They looked around briefly before spotting the red-haired woman.  The nearest agent, a male worgen, approached with twin scimitars drawn, but one of the others grabbed his arm to stop him.  "Wait," the human woman said.  "I recognize her."

"His Majesty said--" the worgen began.

"Hello," greeted Alexstrasza, strolling toward the black-clad guards without a hint of fear.  "Jelayne, isn't it?  I remember you from the Nexus War.  It is good to see you again, child."

"Yes, my lady," said the woman.

"Our orders are to kill or capt--" the worgen attempted, but was again interrupted.

"Do you have any idea who this is?" Jelayne said, glaring at him.  "If you think you can single-handedly take on the former Aspect of Life, be my guest."

The worgen's pale blue eyes widened.   "Alexstrasza?"

She nodded with a pleasant smile.

"Oh hell," the worgen muttered.  "This could be trouble."

"I'm looking for a member of my flight.  I hadn't realized any of my brood had made it to this land already, but I sensed a young female here.  I would like to visit her."  She took a step toward the tavern, but the Blacktalon agents formed a living wall to block her.

"I'm afraid that's not a good idea, my lady," Jelayne said.  "We're under strict orders not to let any other dragons inside."

For the first time, Alexstrasza's serene attitude cracked ever so slightly, and a spark of annoyance flashed in her eyes.  "A member of my flight does not wish to see me?"

"Not her," Jelayne hastened to explain.  "I can send her out to meet you.  It's our master who objects."

Alexstrasza gazed past them at the tavern with a look of deep concentration.  After a moment her frown melted into an astonished expression.   "Can it be...?" she breathed.

Anduin had been silently watching events unfold, but now he stepped foward.  "Lady Alexstrasza, perhaps it would be best to stay out here.   I'm acquainted with the red dragon who lives here.  Her name is Cybelastrasza.   Allow me to--"

A pulse of golden magic radiated out from the dragonqueen, immediately silencing everyone in the area.  The Blacktalon agents found themselves utterly incapable of lifting their weapons, no matter how much their orders and training urged them to.  They had no choice but to stand passively as the intruder swept past them and into the Tavern in the Mists.

 

* * *

 

Cybelastrasza was soaking in the hot springs behind the tavern when a Blacktalon agent told her that the Black Prince demanded her presence in his room immediately.  For a moment she was torn between concern that something was wrong and irritation at being summoned like a servant, but nonetheless she cut her bath short and shook herself dry so she wouldn't drip too much as she flew upstairs.  

The sentry opened the door to the Black Prince's room for her so she didn't have to shift out of her true body.  She found the room empty and looked around in confusion.  "Wrathion?"

"Cybela?" 

She turned toward the sound of his whispered voice and saw nothing but his turban sitting high on a bookshelf.  "Where are you?"  The fabric moved slightly, and she flew up to get a closer look.   "Wrathion?"

"Did they get her?" came a muffled voice.

Cybela stifled a laugh and lifted up the side of the turban to reveal the whelp crouched underneath.  "Did who get what?"

He angrily pulled the cloth down to hide himself again.   "My guards.  Did they stop the red dragon I sensed?"

"Another red dragon?" she gasped.  "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" he snapped.

She closed her eyes to concentrate, and sure enough, there it was:  the presence of another member of her flight.  It was a full-grown dragon, too.  Female, and somehow familiar...

"You're right," she said at last.  "I feel her too.  But you don't have to panic.  I keep telling you, not every member of my flight wishes you harm."

"Statistically, my experience says otherwise," came the muffled reply.

"I'm about to get offended," she teased, sticking her head under the turban so she could see him.

"You are the exception," he said with a snort.  "The _only_ exception."

She sighed.  "Let me go talk to whomever it is.   I doubt they're here to kidnap you, or whatever."

"No!  She could brand you a traitor to the red flight and kill you."  Wrathion reached out and practically dragged her under the turban with him.  "I can't have anything happen to you."  He wrapped tightly around her with his arms, tail, and one wing.

"Oh, Wrathion," she said with fond exasperation.    "Whoever it is, they aren't going to hurt me.  Our flight isn't like that."

He made a skeptical noise and did not let go.

She patted his back and hugged him.  "It'll be fine.   Really.  I'll just--"

_ Hello, child.  Where are you? _

Cybela froze as the voice invaded her head.

Wrathion stiffened in fear.  "What?  What's wrong?"

"She's talking to me with her mind," Cybela said, clutching her head.

_ Please respond, little one.  I didn't know any members of the red flight were in Pandaria.  I would like to visit with you while I am here. _

They had only crossed paths once, when Cybela was a few weeks old, but the deep connection between the Aspects and their flights remained even after their Titan-given powers had expired, making it impossible to mistake her identity.

"It's her," Cybela whispered.

"Who?" Wrathion demanded.

"Alexstrasza."  She spoke the name with hushed reverence.

" _What?_ "  Wrathion bolted upright, scrambling to get out from under the turban.  "The Life Binder?  _Here?_ "   He began flapping his wings and launched himself off the bookcase in the direction of the window.

"Where are you going?" Cybela cried in alarm.

"I can't fight her.  She's too strong.  I have to get away!" he said quickly, fumbling to open the window latch.  His draconic paws were ill-suited for such a delicate endeavor.

"Wrathion, _stop_ ," she barked with such vehemence that he actually did pause to glare at her.

"You do not give _me_ commands," he snarled.

"Let me talk to her.  I'm sure if you just give her a chance like you did me--"

"I didn't _give_ you a chance.  I was half-dead and forced into it."  Seeing the hurt look on her face, he quickly added, "Not that I regret it now, of course.  You're..."  He shifted his weight with an awkward cough.  "You're important to me, Cybela," he said quietly.  Then, regaining his composure, he drew himself up to his full height and snorted smoke.  "But that doesn't mean I'm going to sit here and wait to be killed or captured and subjected to any more experiments.  Never!"

Before Cybela could reply, there was a knock on the door that made them both jump.  Neither whelp moved a muscle, hoping the visitor would go away.

"I can sense you in there," came Alexstrasza's voice, sounding more amused than frustrated.  "Please, children.  There's no need to be afraid."

Cybela shifted into her elven form and headed toward the door.

"No!" Wrathion hissed.  "Cybela!   Don't!"

When she didn't stop, he resumed frantically attempting to open the window.

Cybela opened the door and made an excessively humble curtsey.   "My lady, forgive my hesitation to answer you.  I would have come at once but my friend was afraid."

Alexstrasza smiled warmly and shook her head.  "A natural reaction considering the past.  You are Cybelastrasza, daughter of Rheastrasza, are you not?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Your mother's service and sacrifice were tremendous."

Cybela gave a troubled frown.  "Not everyone thinks so.  But thank you, my lady."

Alexstrasza slipped past her and into the room.  "And there _you_ are.  I had not expected to meet you here, little prince."

Wrathion had shifted back into his human guise, and was doing his absolute best to look calm and disdainful despite the shaking in his knees.   "Nor had I expected to cross paths with _you_ , former Life _Binder_."  He emphasized the last word with a negative tone, calling attention to his past imprisonment.  His turban was still on the bookshelf, leaving him bare-headed, and he self-consciously ran a hand through the wavy black hair that barely covered his neck.  A few extra inches of apparent height would have been welcome.

The red matriarch strode toward him, and he stood riveted to the spot, too proud to back up and too nervous to approach her himself.  She looked him over with an evaluating gaze.  Her eyes spent little time on his elaborate outfit, focusing instead on his red eyes.

Wrathion found himself unable to look away, drawn into the golden depths that held so much wisdom, experience and compassion.

"Oh, child," she sighed.  "You have been through many trials in your short life."

"Yes, much of it thanks to your flight," he snapped.

Behind Alexstrasza, Cybela winced.

"Indeed," the elder said, shaking her head sadly.   "I am so sorry.  You deserved better than to act as a pawn caught between two flights' struggles."

Her ready agreement surprised him.  He stammered for a moment, then regained his scowl.  "Yes.  I certainly did."

"Yet you have not abandoned the mission of your forefathers, have you?  Rumors have reached my ears about you and your plans to unite the world against the Burning Legion.  An admirable undertaking."

Wrathion sneered.  "I'm so glad you think so.  I would hate to deal with the consequences of your disapproval as Malygos and my father did."

Cybela made a nervous squeak, appalled at the way he was speaking to the former red Aspect.

However, Alexstrasza did not appear offended.  She smiled patiently as if listening to a cranky youngster complain about bedtime.  "You speak as if you did not also have a hand in Deathwing's defeat, little one."

Wrathion turned slightly so he wasn't facing her head-on and brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve.   "I suppose you recognized my flight's magic on the daggers my champion carried into battle."

"I did indeed."  Rather than being taken aback by his shrewd guess, she looked proud of him for figuring it out.  "And it gave me great hope in that dark hour, knowing that the old ways of the black flight were not gone forever...that you lived and thrived."

He narrowed his glowing eyes and pointed an accusing finger at her.   "Yet some of your flight tried to kill me the very next day."

A hint of anger crossed her face, but it was not directed at him.  "I neither ordered nor condoned such a thing.  I did not find out about it until months later."

Wrathion was too stunned to even notice Cybela's triumphant "I told you so" look.  "But you were the Aspect.  How could you not know what your flight was doing?"

"As Aspects we had great power, yes, but we were hardly omniscient.  I was in Northrend at the time, completely absorbed in the fight against Deathwing."

"B-but even if you didn't want me dead, you planned to keep me prisoner at the Vermillion Redoubt," he said, mentally scrambling to shore up the hatred that had always simmered inside him.

"For your own safety, child," she said, putting a motherly hand on his shoulder.  "There were many who wished you harm:   Deathwing's followers, servants of the Old Gods, those looking to take advantage of your unique powers, mortals who wanted vengeance for what your flight had done in the past...  I even feared that some in the other dragonflights would want all traces of the black flight eradicated.  You had to be protected."

He stepped back from her touch and bumped against the table under the window.  "But I heard more than one red dragon say I would be killed if I acted like I was corrupted."

"But you are not corrupted," she said simply, regarding him with a fondness that made him almost wish she was as hostile as he imagined her.  "No one would have harmed you without my permission, and I would have only destroyed you as a last resort."

"And yet assassins still came to Ravenholdt to kill me."

She lowered her gaze and nodded sadly.  "That should never have happened."

"But it did happen," he said with a stubborn pout.

"I am sorry, Wrathion."  She reached out and cupped his cheek with one hand, her soft skin pleasantly warm against his.  "If I could take away all the pain and fear you've ever felt, I would do so in a heartbeat.  You weren't meant to be a prisoner in the way you're thinking.  I wanted you close so we could teach you about your flight's true mission and how it used to be, so long ago.  I had hoped to raise you to be a true guardian of Azeroth, just as the Titans intended your flight to be."

Wrathion opened and closed his mouth several times, finding no words adequate to express the confusion whirling in his brain.

Cybela could hold her tongue no longer.  "See?" she burst out, stepping in to put her hand on his arm.  "I told you my flight wasn't all bad."

Alexstrasza turned her attention to the female with the red boartails.  "And you, young one...how did you come to be here with him?   Continuing your mother's mission?"

"Well, sort of," she said, nerves fraying under the former Aspect's gaze.  "I just wanted to meet him, y'know, but at first he didn't want anything to do with me.  Then he got really sick and I saved his life and nursed him back to health and and and--"  She realized how quickly she was talking and took a breath.  "And now he likes having me here.  Don't you, Wrathion?"

He scratched the back of his neck and stammered, "Well, yes, I do, I mean, you're, well...  Yes."

Alexstrasza beamed.  "I'm so glad."  Before he could react, she gathered them both into a hug.

Wrathion flinched at first, but the overwhelming aura of maternal love that surrounded Alexstrasza seeped past his defenses, and after a moment he relaxed slightly.

"I want you to be happy," Alexstrasza whispered into his ear.

He drew back with a solemn expression.  "Do you really believe I am free of my father's madness?"

"I sense no hint of the Old Gods in you, child," she said, slowly running one hand along his shoulder and down his arm.  "You are free."

Wrathion exhaled slowly.  He wanted to believe it, and if he could just allow himself to trust the red queen...

"There is something that has been bothering me, though..."  He squinted at him.  "Would you mind taking your true form?"

He hesitated, but Cybela gave him an encouraging nod, so he shifted back into a whelp.  Normally, the first sight of his real body made people either snicker derisively or squeal over how adorable he was.  There was a hint of the latter on Alexstrasza's face, but somehow coming from her it wasn't so embarrassing.   She didn't see him as some cute animal or even a pet; she saw him as a child.  Much as he wanted to be treated as an adult by the mortals he encountered, there was something reassuring about her motherly affection.

Alexstrasza sat down at the table by the window and motioned for him to land in front of her.  He did, and she gently placed a hand on his back, then used her other hand to tip back his chin, giving her a clear view of his eyes.   "Be calm," she murmured.  He tried, but it was unnerving having the dragonqueen staring into his eyes so intently.  She appeared to fall into a light trance, eyes never moving from his, silently mouthing words he did not recognize.   Cybela watched anxiously, perched on the back of the vacant chair.

"Ah, of course," Alexstrasza said after a full minute of concentration.  She removed her hands from the black whelp and sat back with a satisfied grin.  "That makes far more sense."

"What?  What did you do?"  Wrathion didn't feel any different, but he still didn't completely trust her.

"You _are_ descended from Neltharion.  Just not quite as directly as you assumed."

Wrathion blinked twice before asking, "What?"

She smiled calmly.  "I looked back at your lineage.   Your claim that Deathwing was your father had always seemed _off_ , to me.  Not just because mating with the Destroyer was almost always fatal, but also because your life energy has a different...tone.  It's hard to explain if you're not a red dragon."

Cybela fluttered down to land right beside Wrathion.   "I know what you mean."

"Wait," he said, fluffing up his wings in consternation.  "Are you saying Deathwing was _not_ my father?  But I was told..."  His voice trailed off as the horrible realization sank in:   he had simply taken Fahrad's word for it.

"You may be pleased to know that he was still Neltharion when he sired your mother.  Not that the corruption didn't seep in soon after, but..."  She shrugged.  

"You mean to tell me that Deathwing was my _grandfather_?   Not my father?" Wrathion sputtered indignantly.

"Yes.  The other half of your lineage is also quite impressive.  Your great-grandfather, Ignion, was one of the original proto-dragons uplifted by the Titans themselves to help populate the flights in the early days.   His eldest son, your grandfather Searinox, held the Alterac Mountains for the black dragonflight for thousands of years.  He was slain by Arthas in the days when he was still a noble paladin.  Searinox had many offspring, including your father...Fahradion."

Wrathion looked as if someone had kicked him in the stomach.   He stared at her, barely blinking, jaw quivering with aborted words.

Cybela realized the significance of the name and quickly put her arms around him.  "Oh, Wrathion.  It's all right.  You didn't know."

He shoved her away and faced Alexstrasza with teeth bared and fire smoldering in his throat.  "I will not stand for such blatant _lies!_ " he yelled with a burst of flame before flying out the door in a blur.

"Wrathion!  Wait!" Cybela cried, starting after him.

"No," Alexstrasza said firmly.  "Give him a moment."

"But--"

"He needs to think about this.  Deep inside, he probably already knew it was impossible for Deathwing to be his father.  He is still the Earth Warder's heir, but it must be disconcerting to have your identity shaken in such a way."

"It's not just that," Cybela said, turning in circles as she flapped back and forth, torn between following Wrathion and explaining to the dragonqueen.  "Fahrad was the one who stole his egg from the Vermillion Redoubt and took care of him for all those months.  He taught him how to fly and hunt and everything."

"And he never told him who he was?"

"He never came right out and said he was even a dragon," Cybela said.  "Wrathion just sort of figured it out on his own as time went by.  He said Fahrad was like a parent to him, but because he was a member of the corrupted black flight, he had to be killed along with the rest.  I know Wrathion still grieves for him, though.  And now..."  She wrang her paws in concern.  "Oh, he must be devastated."

Alexstrasza tilted her head with a thoughtful look.   "He already knew he'd helped to bring about his father's death."

"Yeah, but this is different.  You don't understand, my lady!  He never _met_ Deathwing.  Fahrad raised him for almost a year, and...  I have to go."  Cybela gave an apologetic glance at the dragonqueen and zipped out the door.

 

* * *

 

Nearly two months had passed since his illness, but the Black Prince's stamina was still not quite back to normal.  He fled from the Tavern in the Mists as fast as his wings could take him, blindly charging up the mountainside without heed to where he was going.  His only thought was to put as much distance as possible between himself and the lying, scheming red dragon leader.   Soon, however, he found his chest burning and a terribly familiar dizziness twisting his senses.

He careened off course with a high-pitched screech and slammed into the mountain so hard it stunned him.  A pair of scales marked the site of impact, and the rest of him slid down the slope to rest behind a large boulder.

Wrathion lay on his back, pain reverberating through his entire left side, lungs shuddering, eyes watering, head spinning...  He closed his eyes, hoping the vertigo would go away, but could not seem to open them again.  It still felt as if he were falling.

"Fahrad," he moaned as consciousness fled.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Blacktalon agents scoured the mountain slopes for over an hour, looking for signs of their prince.  Cybela had exhausted herself frantically flying around, so Alexstrasza let her ride on her back while he circled over the area.  Long evening shadows were stretching across the hills, and the ever-present mists were growing thicker.  The warmth of the afternoon faded quickly, and the temperature plummeted as a north wind swept down from Kun Lai.

"Can't you sense him, somehow?" Cybela asked for at least the third time, peering over the massive dragon's side at the foggy ground far below.

"I've been trying, young one," Alexstrasza said in a worried tone.

"He can't have gotten this far away," Cybela said, shaking her head.  "We're over the Jade Forest now."

In silent agreement, Alexstrasza wheeled around in a wide arc to head back toward the Veiled Stair.

"We have to find him," the whelp on her back fretted.   "It's getting dark, and cold, and--what's that?  Is that him?"

"No," the adult said sadly.  "That's just one of the saurok that inhabit the caves.  Vile, unnatural things."

Cybela made a frustrated noise and crawled across her back to look from the other side.  "Can we check the river?  Oh, what if he fell in?  He has to be all right.  He just _has_ to be!  He's like the clutchbrother I never knew.  My mother gave her life to protect him.  I can't let her down!"

"I imagine--wait!"  Alexstrasza banked and made a rapid descent, and Cybela had to dig in her claws beneath one of the dragonqueen's scales to keep from falling off.  The mountainside shook with the weight of the enormous dragon as she landed on the slope above the river and saurok caves.  Cybela immediately flew off her back and made a beeline for the small, dark shape at the bottom of the incline.

"Wrathion!" she exclaimed.  "Are you all right?  Wake up!  Speak to me!"

The black whelp gave no sign that he was aware of her presence at all, and Cybela turned toward the elder dragon with a desperate cry.  "He's not waking up!  Help him!"

Alexstrasza shifted back into her elven form and hurried down to where the two whelps were.

"His life energy is so low," Cybela wailed, eyes swimming with tears.  "Save him!  Please!"

Alexstrasza knelt beside the Black Prince and laid one hand on his stomach.  "So cold," she said, narrowing her eyes.   Without hesitation, she inhaled deeply and breathed a gust of flame over him.

Wrathion twitched, coughed shallowly, and opened one eye a fraction.   He mumbled something.

"What did you say?" Cybela asked, leaning closer once the fire cleared.

"Leave me," he wheezed.

" _Leave_ you?" she repeated in disbelief.   "Of course not!  Come on, Wrathion, it's all right.  You don't have to fly.  Lady Alexstrasza can carry us both."

Wrathion's eye fell shut and he turned his head away from them.   "No.  I don't deserve--"

Whatever he had intented to say was lost in Cybela's outburst of, "Don't you dare!  I don't care whose son you are.  You're _my_ prince, and I'm not going to leave you out here."

"Not a prince," he murmured.  "It's all been one huge mistake.  I'm a fraud.  A gullible, patricidal _fool_."

Alexstrasza ignored his words and stepped back to shift into her true form once again.  She carefully scooped up both whelps in one paw and held them close to her chest for warmth as she leapt into the sky.

 

* * *

 

Once again Wrathion's dreams put him back at Ravenholdt.  There were no rogues about, and the manor was silent.  He wandered through the familiar rooms in his human form, vaguely aware that he was dreaming but enjoying the bittersweet nostalgia.

Then he heard voices from outside:  young voices, speaking draconic.  He frowned and went to look out at the manor's grounds.  A swarm of black whelplings that looked oddly similar to himself chased each other across the lawn, giggling and making their best attempts at roars.

Wrathion stood frozen in the doorway, staring.  Who...?   Why...?  How...?

As the parade of whelps continued on around the side of the building, he had a clear view of the practice ring.  The dummies and weapon racks were just as he remembered them but thankfully there was no sign of Fahrad's body.   He was so intent on looking at the spot where the rogue had died that at first he didn't see the colorful blanket spread out on the grass off to the left.

One of the two figures sitting on the blanket waved to get his attention, and he turned to look.  What appeared to be a human woman with dark brown skin grinned happily at him and waved faster now that she knew he was watching.  She wore a fine linen gown the color of the sun, and her long, black hair was tied back with a golden scarf.  He felt he should know her, somehow, but could not place her.

A heartbeat later, he saw the person beside her.

"Fahrad?" he gasped.

The rogue nodded in recognition and gave him a proud smile.

Wrathion's feet refused to move, and he remained riveted in the doorway despite the mysterious woman's insistent gesturing for him to join them.  A picnic basket sat between them on the brightly-colored blanket.

Fahrad said something to her--Wrathion wasn't close enough to hear what--and she gave a carefree laugh, then kissed him.  The rogue put a hand on her neck and drew the kiss out for several long seconds before finally pulling back to regard her with a lovesick smile.

That's when Wrathion realized:  this was his mother, Nyxondra.  He had never seen her in her true body or her mortal guise, but it could only be her.

The woman turned to look at him again, seeming to accept now that he wouldn't be joining them for a picnic.  She shrugged and gave him a smile that radiated maternal love.

He reached out a hand toward them, yearning to get closer, to meet his mother at last, to tell Fahrad how much he missed him, to ask all the questions that burned in his mind...and yet the moment he managed to lift one foot from the ground, the idyllic scene turned to a black void.

"No!" he cried out.

"It's all right, Wrathion," came Cybela's voice from just above him.  "You're home.  You're safe.  It's all right."   The warm, smooth skin of her humanoid hand touched his head, and he finally managed to open his eyes.  He was back in his own bed at the tavern, still in his natural form.

"Cybela," he whispered, reaching up to grasp her hand.  "What...?  Was it all a dream?"

A second red-haired "elf" appeared beside his companion, answering his question by her mere presence.  "I am so sorry, young one.  I didn't realize how knowledge of your heritage would affect you."

"Get out," Wrathion snarled, sitting up.  "I don't want to hear anything you have to say!"

"Wrathion," Cybela scolded, "she's trying to help you.  If she hadn't flown me all over the mountain you probably would still be freezing to death out there!  Notice how all the sprains and bruises you had are gone?  You have her to thank for that, too.  I'm not skilled enough yet to erase injuries that completely."

He rubbed his eyes with his left paw and noticed that the pain from smacking into the mountainside was indeed gone.  "A pittance that does not erase the offenses of the past," he grumbled.

Alexstrasza shook her head sadly and edged Cybela aside to loom over the prince.  "I can only apologize so many times, child.  But please believe me, I meant no harm by revealing your father's identity."

Cybela shifted back into her true body and landed beside him on the pillow.  He did not protest when she put one arm around his shoulders and leaned against him with a sympathetic trill.

"Cybelastrasza has told me about what Fahrad meant to you.   Whether you were related by blood or not, he was your father in every way that mattered, and I can only imagine how you felt...doing what had to be done."

Wrathion stared blankly toward the foot of the bed.

Alexstrasza reached out to put a steadying hand on his back, her elven hand dwarfing Cybela's small, scaled one.

He still did not look at her.  "Are you absolutely certain?  Your powers are not what they once were, after all.  Perhaps you sensed that Fahrad was _like_ a father to me, and jumped to conclusions."

"There is another piece of evidence," she said gently.  "Cybela told me how you communicated with Fahrad from within your egg, while still at the Vermillion Redoubt."

"What of it?" he asked, picking dirt from under one of his claws.  "I was desperate not to be killed or born a _prisoner_ , so I called for help with my mind.  He was simply the first one who answered."

Alexstrasza smiled patiently.  "He spoke directly to you while you were still in your egg, hundreds of miles away?"

"I believe we established that, yes," he said with an irritated scowl.

She stroked the back of his head, tracing the frilled crest that ran along the middle.  "Parents are naturally attuned to hear their children crying in distress, even from great distances.  Unless one is an Aspect, such communication is only possible between close family members:  mates, siblings, parents, children..."

"He had never met me."

"It doesn't matter.  You were his son."

Wrathion opened his mouth but found no words, closing it again with a troubled sigh.  

Cybela patted his quaking back. 

"It does make _some_ sense.  He did speak very highly of my mother," he said, voice wavering uncertainly.  "But he said Deathwing was my father.  I was just a hatchling.   I never thought to question him."

"I'm sure he was trying to protect you by giving you a title of respect," Alexstrasza said.

"But...  No, this isn't right."  Wrathion shook his head.   "I _must_ be the Aspect's heir!"

"And so you are," Alexstrasza said.  "You are simply Neltharion's grandson...not his son."

Wrathion looked lost, glancing around the room as if nothing looked quite the way it should.  "But..."  He made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.   "I can't believe this.  Has my entire life been a lie?"

Cybela immediately seized him in a vigorous hug.  "No.  You're still the only purified black dragon, and everything you've accomplished proves you're important."

Alexstrasza leaned over, and he shied away but could not prevent her from placing a light kiss on his forehead.  "All life is important.  It sounds like you had a dedicated father who worked very hard to rescue you, nurture you and prepare you."

"And I had him killed," Wrathion said miserably, bowing his head.

"You told me once that you thought he understood, somehow," Cybela said.

Wrathion kept his eyes shut.  "We spent months planning the extinction of the black dragonflight.  He never outright admitted that he was one, himself, but he dropped hints and didn't deny it when I confronted him.  I do think he realized how things would have to end."

"And he still stayed with you, helping you and protecting you," Cybela said.

"Any loving parent would do the same," Alexstrasza added.  "We all want our children to grow up in a world that is safe and full of opportunities for happiness.  I'm sure he thought his life a fair price to pay to ensure you would be all right."

Wrathion opened his eyes to look up at her, and tears spilled down his cheeks.  "You think so?"

"My last consort, Korialstrasz..."  She paused and took a deep breath to control her own emotion.  "...gave his life to prevent our children from being twisted into Twilight abominations.  It is what good parents do."

Wrathion once again found himself speechless.  Instead he made a futile attempt to compose himself as tears welled up faster than he could wipe them away.

Alexstrasza gently stroked the back of his head.  "Your father and Cybela's mother laid down their lives to ensure you could live on.  They wanted you to be happy and safe.  Go forward with their strength behind you.  You have been loved, and that is a gift no one can take away."

Cybela tilted her head against his.  "He still is loved."

He looked embarrassed but did not lean away.

 

* * *

 

It was well past midnight before Alexstrasza took her leave and flew away.  Cybela went outside to see her off, waving until the massive red dragon disappeared into the misty sky.

"What was that all about?  Is everything all right?   None of the Blacktalons would tell me anything."

Cybela turned to see a concerned Anduin Wrynn standing in the doorway of the tavern.  She smiled apologetically.  "It's a long story, and I don't know how much he would want me to tell you.  The dragonqueen brought some, uh, information that he didn't take very well.  I think it'll be okay now, though."

Anduin looked only slightly less confused, but a bit less worried.  "Well, I trust you, so if you say it's all right...  But if either of you need anything, or if he needs to talk, or whatever..."  He shrugged.

"Of course.  Thank you, Anduin.  Right now I think we all need to get some sleep."  She patted his back as she walked past.   "You included.  You look tired."

The human prince nodded and followed her inside.

 

* * *

 

Cybela did not knock, expecting Wrathion to be sleeping.   Instead she found him sitting at the table by the window, back in his human form.   He was staring into the depths of a rather plain-looking brown gemstone.  It was large enough to fill his palm but otherwise was unremarkable, especially compared to the dazzling gems he normally worked with.

He did not acknowledge her arrival.

"Are you all right?" she asked, approaching slowly.

He made a noncommittal noise, eyes never leaving the brown stone.

"Lady Alexstrasza is gone."  She sat down across from him.  "And I talked to Anduin.  He was worried but I told him everything was okay."

Wrathion's red eyes snapped up to meet hers with a mixture of anger and panic.  "You didn't tell him anything, did you?"

"No," she said quickly.  "I just said she had brought some upsetting news, but that you were fine now."

He sighed in relief and returned his gaze to the gem.

"Are you?" she asked.

He thought for a moment.  "I suppose I'll have to be, won't I?  The Burning Legion doesn't care about my...genealogical trauma, after all.   They're still coming.  Azeroth still needs my skills."

"Yes, it does."  She reached across the table, intending to put her hand over his. 

He drew back before she could touch him, however, holding the strange stone close to his chest.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, slipping it into a hidden pocket of his coat.   "And _nothing_ is going to change.  As far as anyone knows, I am still the Black Prince, son of Deathwing.  If you ever breathe a word of this to _anyone_..."

She sat up straighter in her chair and narrowed her golden eyes at him.  "Don't you _dare_ threaten me.  If you don't trust me by now--"

"I do," he interjected.  "You know I do, or you wouldn't be here in my private chamber, unguarded."  He waved his hand dismissively.

She exhaled sharply but nodded to accept his assurance.   "You're right, though.  Nothing needs to change.  You _are_ Deathwing's grandson, and his only living heir.  Your title is still a legitimate one."

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair until the front legs lifted off the ground.  "I know that.  Intellectually, I understand.  But it _feel_ s different now."

She leaned forward again, resting her chin on her clasped hands.  "It's not all bad, though.  You weren't exactly _happy_ that Deathwing was your father, were you?  I know the very thought of him terrifies you."

He let his chair drop so all four legs were on the ground again, and regarded her with an indignant sneer.  "I wouldn't say _terrified._   More like, 'respectfully cautious,' or..."  The lies died on his tongue.

Cybela gave a gentle smile and reached across the table to pat his arm.  "I've witnessed enough of your nightmares to know what frightens you, Wrathion.  And Deathwing appears even more often than the Burning Legion."

"That's...  I...  Well..."  He swallowed uncomfortably and bowed his head.  "Yes, fine.  I don't think there's a creature living who doesn't fear Deathwing.  It's a perfectly reasonable response to a raving-mad dragon the size of a mountain with the power to end the world."

She smirked.  "Perfectly reasonable, yes."

"I've never _liked_ the idea of being his son, but from the day I hatched I believed it to be true, so I made the best of it.  The connection gave me authority, recognition, power..."  He paused.   "As well as shame, guilt, and, yes, fear," he added softly.  He shifted his weight in his chair and seemingly without conscious thought took the brown gemstone out of his coat again to turn it over his hands.  "It's strange, you know...  I have lived my life with the belief that my father was a monster who tried to destroy my egg, not to mention the world.  Now, to think that both my parents actually cared...  I don't know how to feel about that."

Cybela said nothing.

"And it makes me realize how little I really know about my mother," he continued.  "She was a daughter of the Aspect, yet she did not make her presence known in the world like Onyxia or Nefarian did.  Was that because she was weaker?  Less corrupted?  Out of favor with Deathwing for some other reason?  I'll never know."

"I wonder if my mother knew she was dealing with the Earth Warder's direct daughter.  She may have.  I imagine she wanted to get as close to his power as possible, and with only one generation separating her and Neltharion..."

"Possible."  He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the stone, seeming to take comfort from the texture.  Finally, he realized he should explain what it was.  "Fahrad gave me this," he said quietly.   "It was enchanted with a powerful binding spell attuned to work on dragons.   It only carried enough magic to work once, but he wanted me to have it in case he lost control of himself.  He didn't say as much, of course, but I knew.  By releasing its power, I was able to freeze him in place long enough for my first champion to...to..."  He let his voice trail off, still staring into the murky depths of the gem.  "It's drained and useless, now.  I don't know why I've kept it.  A frivolous, sentimental indulgence."  His dismissive words were not as convincing as he'd hoped as his voice quavered.

Cybela got out of her chair and stooped to put her arms around him.  "Let's try to get some sleep," she said after a moment.   "It's really late, and it's been quite a day."

Wrathion gave a shuddering sigh and blinked back the moisture in his eyes.  "It certainly has," he muttered in an attempt to sound irritated.  He put the stone back in his jacket pocket, stood up, and shifted into a whelp.

Cybela waited until he was lying on the futon and she had arranged the pillows and blankets before returning to her true body.  She landed beside him and slid under the covers.  At first Wrathion ignored her presence, but she cuddled up with her arms around him and gently pushed his head onto her shoulder.   After a moment he stopped trembling and relaxed against her.  Sleep came quickly to both exhausted whelps.


	4. Chapter 4

Nothing changed at all as far as the champions, the Blacktalons, or anyone else could see.  The Black Prince still sent adventuers into mogu strongholds in search of Titan secrets, and he received their reports with the same bombastic enthusiasm.  Only those who knew him best could tell that Alexstrasza's visit had left him unsettled, and only Cybela knew why.

That didn't stop Anduin was trying to figure it out, however.   The blond prince sat across from Wrathion while the dragon pondered his next move on the game board.

The Black Prince scowled in concentration, growing impatient at his own indecision.  Finally, he grabbed a token seemingly at random and inched it closer to his opponent's side of the board.

Anduin raised an eyebrow.  No matter how many times he tried to explain that the aim of _jihui_ was for the game to end in a tie, his friend's competitive nature could not be suppressed.  Reluctantly, he moved one of his ships to counter Wrathion's move, breaking the formation he had been carefully setting up for several turns.

"You weren't supposed to do _that_ ," Wrathion griped.

"Oh?"

"Why didn't you retreat?"

"It would have unbalanced the board."

"But now your north flank is completely exposed.  You were _supposed_ to move that line forward so I could move my fire ship through the side and take out your flagship."

"I'm not that predictable, Wrathion," Anduin said with a grin.  "And remember, we're supposed to tie.  If I did what you're suggesting, I'd lose."

"But this way you can't win!"

"I'm not supposed to."

Wrathion made a frustrated noise and flicked one of the captured pieces off the table.  It skittered across the floor, riccocheted off a lamp, and came to rest at Left's feet.  The orc calmly picked it up and returned it to the table without comment.

"Is everything all right?" Anduin asked.   "It seems like something is bothering you."

"I am _fine_ ," Wrathion snapped.   "Make your move."

Anduin did, setting up a clear opportunity for his opponent to capture one of his minor pieces.

"Now you're trying to let me win," Wrathion accused with a pout.

"No, I'm trying to balance the board again.  There are too many infantry pieces on this side."

"So you're sacrificing one of your own pieces just to 'balance' the board?" Wrathion scoffed.

"That's the whole point of _jihui_."

The Black Prince crossed his arms on his chest and slouched.   "I hate this game."

Anduin sat back and stretched.  "If you want to talk about it--"

"We _are_ talking."

"I mean talk about whatever's bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me."

"You've been out of sorts since Alexstrasza was here.   Cybela said she gave you some information that upset you."

Wrathion glared at him.  "There is a human idiom about curiosity killing cats, and considering the sigil of your house is a _lion_ , I would suggest you leave that line of thinking alone.  What passed between the former dragonqueen and myself is none of your concern."

Anduin shrugged in surrender.  "All right.  But just remember I'm here if you need an ear.  It's your move, by the way."

Wrathion regarded the game board with annoyance.   "Fine."  He reached out and shifted one of his more powerful pieces into a position that left Anduin no escape.

"If you do that you're going to capture at least four of my pieces."

"Yes, I am," he said with a wicked grin that showed off his sharp teeth.

"There's no way to restore the balance now," Anduin said with a disgusted sigh.

"Oops," he said without the slightest bit of sincerity.

"Why did you do that?  The game's basically over now.   It makes no sense."

" _Life_ doesn't make sense."  Wrathion stood and stalked away, leaving Anduin to shake his head in frustration.

 

* * *

 

When the news came of the Thunder King's defeat, an impromptu celebration sprang up at the Tavern in the Mists.  Tong dug some colored lanterns out of storage and strung them up from the ceiling, and local musicians played strings, woodwinds and percussion instruments out on the porch.

The Black Prince welcomed the distraction, eagerly absorbing every scrap of new information that came from the Throne of Thunder.  A constant stream of champions filed past his table, swapping artifacts and intelligence for the rewards he offered.  

It was well after midnight when the festivities quieted down.   Anduin and most of the others had retired to their rooms.  The main room of the tavern was empty save for Wrathion, Left, Right, another pair of Blacktalon agents, a drunk blood elf passed out in the corner, and Tong, who was busy sweeping up debris from the floor.

Cybela plodded down the stairs, rubbing her eyes.   "Are you coming to bed soon?"

Scrolls, runestones, parchment, sigils and gems littered the table.  Wrathion was scribbling notes at an amazing speed, so absorbed in his studies that he didn't even notice her approach until she repeated the question.

"Oh!"  He flinched in surprise and looked up with a disoriented expression.  "What time is it?"

"Late.  You should be sleeping."

"I'll just finish this..." he said vaguely, dipping his pen in the inkwell again.  "One of my champions should be delivering the heart of Lei Shen tomorrow.  I can hardly wait!"

"What are you doing, anyway?" she mumbled tiredly.

He grinned up at her with an expression of delight that matched his chronological age.  "Oh, Cybela, it's _fascinating_!   The mogu, the Titans...it's all starting to make sense!"

"The mogu are defeated, though.  What difference does it make now?"

Wrathion looked vaguely offended.  "Knowledge can make all the difference in the world.  I have my reasons."

"You keep acting like you have some grand plan for all this mogu stuff," she said irritably.  "I think you just study this junk because you like it."

He straightened his posture indignantly.  "And what harm is there in learning for learning's sake?"

"The harm is in all the adventurers who have been killed or maimed collecting that stuff for you."

"They know the risks when they embark on my missions.   I'm not forcing anyone to do anything."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to _like_ it.  It's none of your business."

Tong walked between them, pushing a broom and apparently oblivious to their argument.

Cybela crossed her arms on her chest and made a frustrated noise.  "Fine.  I'm going to bed, then.  I ate too much at the party and I've felt icky ever since.  Whenever _Your Majesty_ decides to join me, feel free."  She turned on her heel and disappeared up the stairs.

Wrathion snorted and returned his attention to his research.

 

* * *

 

Indigestion kept Cybela awake longer than she would have liked, and she wasn't sleeping very soundly yet when the door opened.  She blinked her tired eyes open and saw an orcish silhouette.  Startled, she raised her scaled head off the pillow to get a better look.

Left strode into the room, carrying the Black Prince like a knight rescuing a maiden in an old song.  He was snoring quietly with his mouth hanging open.

Cybela scooted over to make room for his human form, and Left laid him down with surprising gentleness.

"Conked out at the table, did he?" Cybela whispered.

Left winked, pulled a blanket over them both, and departed.

The red whelp crawled into the space between the prince's arm and ribs, giving a happy trill at the extra warmth.  She soon joined him in snoring.

 

* * *

 

At first Wrathion was quite disoriented when he awoke to find himself in his bed in mortal form.  The last thing he could recall was sitting at the table downstairs, poring over the wealth of information from the Throne of Thunder.   Somehow he had ended up in his room, and he assumed his Blacktalons were responsible.  It wasn't the first time such a thing had happened.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up, only then realizing that he had a whelp attached to his chest.

Cybela moaned groggily and dug her claws into his jacket to keep from sliding off as her "mattress" became vertical.

He put his hands beneath her to hold her there.   "Easy on the clothing; you'll snag the silk," he muttered.

More awake now, Cybela carefully detached her claws and fluttered away from him to land on the edge of the futon.  She yawned, then said, "'Morning."

Remembering their spat the night before, Wrathion expected her to be cross with him, but she acted as cheerful as usual.  Cybela didn't seem to be the type to hold grudges very long.

Following her example, he gave a tenative smile.   "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, better now," she said with a dismissive shrug.   "I just had too many sweets at the party.  You're not the only dragon who forgets to eat properly sometimes."

In the interest of keeping the peace he chose to ignore that jab.  "That was quite a celebration, for something thrown together on such short notice."

She flew over to the wash basin and splashed water on her face.

Wrathion stood and stretched.  He hated to admit that his eyes were sore from staying up too late poring over his studies, and was trying to think of a subtle way to ask her if she had a remedy for eyestrain when there was a knock at the door.  He straightened his wrinkled jacket and went to answer it.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Right greeted him with a bow.  "Forgive the intrusion so soon after waking up, but there's a visitor for you."

"Not the usual sort of champion, I take it?"

Right gave a faint smile.  "I wouldn't bother you if it was, my prince.  She's an emissary of the bronze dragonflight."

Wrathion's eyebrows arched in surprise.  "The _bronze_ dragonflight?  My, my...  Took them long enough to approach me.  Then again, with all that messy time travel business, Titans only know 'when' they learned of my existence.  Hmm.  I'll be right down."

Right nodded low enough to be considered a bow of sorts, then went back down the hallway.

Cybela came up beside him, now in her elven guise.   "A bronze, here?  I wonder what they want."

She sounded worried, and Wrathion put a reassuring hand on her back.  "They probably realized how influential I am and finally decided to offer their assistance in the coming war against the Legion."

She looked unconvinced.

"Cybela, my dear, there's no need to fret," he said smoothly.  "This tavern is _heavily_ guarded.  My Blacktalons are capable of defending me from a single bronze dragon, if need be."

"And if this bronze freezes time so your guards can't move?  What then?"

"Your concern is appreciated, but the situation is under control, I assure you.  Besides, aren't you the one who's always telling me that the other dragonflights aren't as hostile as I imagine them?"

"Yes, but..."  She frowned even more deeply.   "The Infinite flight is still a threat."

"I think Right would have noticed if this visitor was inky, semi-ethereal, and echoing."  He smirked and started down the hallway.

Cybela followed close behind.

 

His sharp draconic senses would have made it an easy matter to pick his guest out of the crowded tavern, even if she hadn't been standing by his usual table with four Blacktalon agents gathered around.  Wrathion approached at a leisurely pace, holding his head high.  The bronze had taken the form of a high elf, as they often did.  She wore flawless plate armor of light-colored silver with gold trim, but carried no weapon.  Then again, as a dragon, she needed no sword or axe to cause damage.

"Your Majesty," she greeted with a formal bow.   "A pleasure to meet you.  I am Elapsidormi."

Wrathion looked down his nose with regal disdain, sizing her up with a casual sweep of his eyes.

_Is she being polite because she fears me, or because she knows the great things I will accomplish in the future?_ he wondered.  _Or is she being cautious because she knows the darkness that someday might..._   He shook off that thought and brought a practiced smile to his face.  "Greetings.  What brings you to my doorstep?"

"I come bearing an invitation," she said, gesturing at a scroll of parchment on the table.  No doubt the Blacktalons had confiscated it from her and tested it for poisons, curses and other threats.  "There is a curious island that exists in a limnal place between the time streams.  Now and then--literally--it appears off the south-eastern coast of Pandaria.  For the first time in many mortal generations, it has manifested itself.  It is a dangerous isle filled with mysteries and knowledge long hidden from the rest of the world.  No doubt you will find many things there to interest you."

Wrathion took a moment to absorb this, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  "And you are letting me know about this _why_ , exactly?"

"The missive on the table should answer any questions you might have.  My master looks forward to meeting you, Your Majesty."  The bronze smiled, bowed--and, in the time it took Wrathion to blink, disappeared.  He knew she had probably accelerated the pocket of time around her body in order to make a hassle-free exit, but it was still unnerving.  Cybela was right:  his guards could only do so much when time itself was on the assailant's side.

Yet Elapsidormi had seemed friendly enough...  He grabbed the parchment off the table and unrolled it.

_Greetings to the Black Prince,_ he read.  _As we both share a keen interest in the future well-being of Azeroth, I believe it would be advantageous for us to meet.  I eagerly await your arrival at the Timeless Isle.   Feel free to bring your entourage and whatever comforts you like; the isle is not equipped with the trappings of what mortals consider civilization.  I recommend sturdy tents.  Game is plentiful, however, so you need not be concerned about food.   I look forward to meeting you.  Sincerely, Kairozdormu._

Wrathion read the letter twice, looking for hidden meanings or threats, but found none.

"Odd," Cybela said after reading it over his shoulder.  "It could be a trap."

"Perhaps, but I didn't sense any hostility from the courier, and the letter is certainly...eloquent.  Granted, eloquence does not equate with benevolence, but...  This sounds like a fascinating locale.  I don't see how I can let this opportunity pass by!"

"Aren't you needed here?" she asked.

"With the Thunder King disposed of, I can afford a brief...vacation," he said with a grin.

"That sounds like quite a place!" Anduin's voice came suddenly from right behind him.

Wrathion jumped and turned around, frowning at the brief lapse of dignity.  "Anduin Wrynn, it's not polite to sneak up on someone like that."

Anduin grinned and pointed at his leg.  "Notice anything different?"

Wrathion looked at him blankly, but Cybela squealed in delight.   "You're walking without your cane!"

"That's right.  I may still need it for long distances, for awhile, but indoors like this...  I'm steady enough on my own now!"

"That's wonderful!"  Cybela looked like she wanted to hug him, but restrained herself.

"Indeed," Wrathion said, nodding with a smile.   "For such a fragile race, you humans do have amazing healing abilities."

"By the grace of the Light," Anduin said with a shrug.  "Now, what's this about a mysterious new island popping up out of nowhere?"

Wrathion studied the letter once more.  "Anduin, have you ever met a bronze dragon?"

"Just one.  Chromie came to Stormwind right after Deathwing's defeat, bearing...proof."

"Yes," Wrathion said dryly.  "I glimpsed that hideous trophy from across the lake when I was in your fair city."  He almost managed to suppress a shudder.  Truth be told, he had taken one look at the enormous fragment of Deathwing's jaw, given a most undignified screech of terror, and immediately shifted back into a whelp.  He had clung to Right's tunic, trembling with his eyes closed, until they were many blocks away.  He considered it a personal triumph that he had managed to avoid soiling himself.   He did not dare glance in her direction now, but she remained stone-faced and silent on the matter.

Wrathion cleared his throat and smiled mildly at Anduin.  "Well, if you have any interest in meeting another bronze, you're welcome to tag along."

His friend looked more amused than offended by the informal, dismissive nature of the invitation.  "I just might.  A change of scenery would be awfully nice."

"I still have a few matters concerning the Thunder King to wrap up here, but we can leave tomorrow morning if that's agreeable to everyone."   Wrathion started for the stairs, then turned around to smirk at the human prince.  "You pack the _jihui_ board."  With that, he went to make preparations.

 


	5. Chapter 5

A flock of winged shapes darkened the sky over the Jade Forest.   The two princes and their respective entourages were on the move.  Anduin's snow-white gryphon was flanked by two Stormwind guards on similar mounts.  Left and Right followed close behind, with the orc astride a traditional Horde windrider and the human riding a dingy brown gryphon.

At first glance the Black Prince and his red companion were nowhere to be seen, but presently a voice came from Left's saddlebag.

"I still can't believe you _ate_ Lei Shen's heart."

A dark-scaled head popped out of one of Right's saddlebags.   "You're always nagging me to eat more raw meat.  I don't see what the problem is."

The crimson whelp rolled her eyes at him.  Right and Left were flying side-by-side, allowing the two dragons to converse across the several feet that separated them.  "Raw goat or yak is a little different from an ancient mogu heart.  You don't know what effect it could have on you."

"I feel _fine_."

"But you had that weird vision right after you ate it."

"So I'm told.  If only I remembered it...  Very odd.  I normally retain vivid memories of my visions."  He fought back a shiver at the thought of the Legion invasion.

"It was creepy."

Wrathion snickered.  "You worry too much, Cybela."

She snorted.  "I _am_ supposed to be watching out for your health, you know.  That's my official role as part of your Blacktalons, isn't it?"

"Technically," he said, breaking eye contact.   "Among other things."

She smiled.  There was no need to speak of how much better he slept since she was around to keep him warm and comfort him through his frequent nightmares.

"So," he said in a painfully obvious effort to change the subject, "I'm certainly looking forward to seeing this new island.  I wonder when it last appeared."

"You'll have to ask this 'Kairozdormu' when we get there."

"Indeed."

"I'm surprised you're not bringing more guards with you."

Wrathion gave a derisive laugh.  "Cybela, do you really think I'm going to a mysterious, uncharted island with members of another dragonflight on it and untold other dangers with just two guards?  No, no.  As capable as Left and Right are, there are a number of Blacktalons already waiting for us there.  They were dispatched as soon as the bronze messenger left yesterday morning.   As my people usually do, however, they will be keeping their presence... _discreet_.   I know they are there.  No one else needs to."

"Oh."

"Now then, we still have a few hours of flight before we arrive, and I don't know about you but the swaying of these beasts is making me sleepy.  Right, wake me when we near the isle."

"Yes, sir."

Wrathion ducked back down into the saddlebag, and Cybela followed his example.

 

* * *

 

The Timeless Isle may have only been accessible for a short time, but it was already abuzz with activity.  The arena where the August Celestials sparred with mortal challengers was the centerpiece of the isle.  Throngs of adventurers from the Horde and Alliance crowded around.  Vendors lined the walkways, offering a wide variety of food and drink.  Not all of the associated smells were complimentary, and the Black Prince wrinkled his nose as he passed by adjacent kiosks selling yak fritters and cinnamon rolls.

"Careful," Cybela whispered, laying a hand on his left arm.  "Don't get too close.  Cinnamon makes our kind very sick."

"I'm aware," he murmured back.  "Despite the circumstances under which we met, I am not _completely_ ignorant about draconic nutritition."  The memory of Fahrad warning him to avoid that particular spice flashed through his mind, and he frowned.  So much for the theory that a change of scenery would take his mind off _that_ situation.

To his right, Anduin was surveying the arena, merchants, and crowds of adventurers with a delighted smile.  "It's so nice to see so many different races mingling peacefully!"

No sooner had he said this, however, than voices raised in anger came from just ahead.  A troll with a tall, red mohawk took a swing at a night elf.  The elf dodged easily and flung her leg out in an attempt to kick her assailant in the stomach.  Before her foot could connect, however, they were both seized by pandaren guards and dragged apart.

"There will be no fighting here!" the older of the two guards said sternly.  

"Save it for the yaungol," the other added.

The troll and elf glared at each other, the former jutting out his tusks in a confrontational matter, but stalked off in opposite directions.

The princes watched the altercation from a safe distance.   Anduin looked dismayed, while Wrathion folded his arms behind his back and observed with an expression of dry amusement.  "You were saying, Prince Anduin?"

The human scowled.  "Well, we _are_ still at war," he muttered.

They continued on in silence toward where they had been instructed to meet Kairozdormu.  The crowds parted for them either out of respect or because of the encouragement of the two armored Stormwind guards.  Left and Right brought up the rear, daggers and crossbows ever at the ready for any sign of a threat.

"Hello, Your Majesties!" came a cordial voice.   "Welcome to the Timeless Isle."

The chaotic jumble of energy and scents meant that Wrathion had not sensed the approach of a bronze dragon, and he pushed back a spark of anxiety at suddenly being face to face with such an unknown.

The tall figure waving them over appeared to be a high elf, with golden hair swept back from his face and pale skin.  He wore vestments of white and several different shades of gray that gave him the air of a mage, although such an aesthetic was more suited to a blue dragon.

Friendly as always, Anduin nodded and smiled.   "Greetings.  You must be Kairozdormu."

"I am.  Feel free to call me Kairoz, however.   Come, Your Majesties, I have been looking forward to meeting you." 

Wrathion narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  The bronze acted as if he had been expecting Anduin as well, despite the invitation only being addressed to the Black Prince.  Of course, it was probably quite difficult to surprise a dragon with powers related to the flow of time.

Their host led them to a sturdy wooden table set off slightly from the main walkway.  Anduin and Wrathion sat across from each other, with Cybela and Kairoz taking the other two seats.  Their respective guards took up positions just behind them.  Cybela scooted her chair closer to Wrathion's.

"I trust your journey here was uneventful?" Kairoz asked pleasantly.  A pandaren server brought over a tray and distributed tea to them all.

Anduin fell into small talk with practiced ease.   "Yes, I very much enjoyed seeing the Jade Forest from the air.  It looks a lot different when you're on foot."

"I imagine so," Kairoz said, sipping his tea.   "And you, Black Prince?"

Wrathion had been so busy trying to sense whether the bronze was trustworthy that he gave a small start at being addressed directly.  "Hmm?   Oh, yes, the travel was fine.  Not that it was _my_ first time seeing the Jade Forest from the air."  He stirred his tea but did not take a drink yet.

After a period of inane chat about the weather, the tea, the crowds, and the Celestials' challenges, Wrathion grew simultaneously bored and wary.   "So tell me, Kairoz," he said, carefully enunciating the bronze's name, "why did you make a point of inviting me here?  It is a fascinating place and I look forward to unlocking its secrets, but--forgive me for being blunt--I have trouble believing you asked me here simply because you thought I would _enjoy_ it.   We've never met, and I have no reason to trust you."

Kairoz quirked an eyebrow at him.  "Just because you haven't been approached by any members of my flight before doesn't mean we haven't been aware of you, young prince.  You are the lynchpin of several crucial splits in the timelines."

Wrathion felt his mouth go dry, although nothing about the other's expression indicated whether this was a positive or a negative.  Time to taste the tea.

"I'm going to be busy with...other matters in the near future, and I wanted to take the opportunity to meet you before...certain developments take place."

Wrathion sat up straighter in his chair.  "If you're simply going to tease me with your knowledge of the future..."

Kairoz smiled and held up a hand.  "Not at all.   I regret that I cannot speak freely, but such is the burden of my flight.   Suffice it to say that I mean you no harm.  And you needn't concern yourself with what I may or may not know about the future, as there is always a chance that things can change.  The future is not set in stone.  Besides, my flight's dominion over the timeways is far less than it was before the Aspects' weakening.  I have only flashes of insight:  nothing more."

Wrathion nodded slowly, trying to read between the lines.   "I see."

"For instance, I knew nothing about your lovely friend, here.  You are of the red flight, correct?"

Cybela smiled shyly.  "I'm Cybelastrasza.   Pleased to meet you."

"Interesting," Kairoz murmured, studying her with an intensity that nearly made her blush.  Then, turning back to Wrathion, he said, "You would do well to form connections with the other dragonflights, as well.  As our numbers and powers decline, we should band together and combine our strength."

Unsurprisingly, Anduin looked enthusiastic about the idea.   Anything to do with unity and cooperation made him perk up like a dog catching a whiff of fresh meat being dropped under the table.

"I have members of two of the four sitting at this table," Wrathion said cheekily.  "I think that's a pretty good start."

Kairoz sipped his tea in silent agreement.   "If I may, I would like to ask you a hypothetical question.  Unfortunately I am not capable of such a thing anymore, but if I _could_ bring you along on an excursion through the timeways, Black Prince, what would you want to see?   You would be unable to change anything, of course, but if you could observe any moment in history, when would you choose?"

Wrathion studied his cup, thinking carefully.  _I want to see Fahrad again.  I want to meet my mother.  Take me to a time when they were happy together._   But of course he couldn't say such a foolish thing aloud.   A close second choice came to mind, and he looked up with a solemn expression.   "I would want to see what my father was like before his madness, when he was still the Earth Warder."

Even now he could not think of Fahrad as "father."   That title had always been attached to the Destroyer.  "Father" was to be spoken with fear.  He could not associate the rogue with that word.   Whatever their true relationship, in his mind Fahrad was simply...Fahrad.   Regardless, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, Deathwing was still his sire, and he had no intention of saying otherwise.

Kairoz nodded in approval.  "A wise choice.  It must be difficult to fill his role without any knowledge of how he was in those ancient times."

"I manage."  Wrathion gave a haughty sniff.

"And you, Prince Anduin?" the bronze asked.   "What glimpse of history would you want to witness?"

"Oh, wow, I don't know," Anduin said.  "I would love to see the original Ashbringer in action, or the first paladins...  No.   I know.  I would want to see the day that my father returned to Stormwind as king and began to rebuild the city after the orcish invasion."

"A bright day in the history of your people," Kairoz said.

"I can only imagine what he was like then, before I was born, before my mother died, when he was full of hope for a peaceful and prosperous future.  I...  I think I could relate to the man he was then more than...now," he finished awkwardly.

"Lady Cybelastrasza.  Same question."

"I'm not a lady," she said immediately.   "I'm just a novice healer.  But, um...I don't know.  All I can think of would be to see my mother.  She died before I hatched, so...  Yeah."

Kairoz did not press the matter.  "Thank you all for indulging my odd questions.  Consider it a pecularity of the bronze flight, but I find it most illuminating to learn how others view their personal journeys through time."

Wrathion squinted up at the sky.  "Speaking of time, I couldn't help noticing that the sun hasn't moved since we arrived.  It can't still be early evening."

"Correct.  The Timeless Isle is aptly named.   The island is suspended outside of the normal flow of the world.  Don't expect the sun to move at all during your stay."

"How is that possible?"

Kairoz pushed his teacup away and stood.  "One of the many mysteries you will wish to ponder during your stay here.  You've had a long journey and I won't keep you any longer.  We can continue our discussion...well, terms like 'tomorrow' aren't very useful here, but you know what I mean.  I hope the lack of darkness doesn't keep you awake."  With that, the bronze nodded to both princes and disappeared into the crowd.

"Odd fellow," Wrathion grumbled.

"He seems personable enough," Anduin said.

Cybela pursed her lips.  "I don't trust him."

"You're not still worried about the Infinite dragonflight, are you?" Wrathion scoffed, although he didn't trust the bronze, either.

"It's not that, I just...  He's hiding something."

"Of course he's hiding something.  Everyone's hiding something.  It's merely a matter of whether or not the something he's hiding is a threat."  Wrathion yawned and stood up.  "For now, I have every confidence in my Blacktalons to protect us."  He turned to his bodyguards.   "Left, Right, I do believe I'm ready to retire for the, er, 'night.'"

The two women cleared a path through the throng, which had not diminished in the slightest despite what they perceived as a late hour.  They led their prince and his companions to the far side of the Celestials' arena, where a haphazard grouping of tents had sprung up.

Spotting the tent adorned with Stormwind's insignia, Anduin bid the dragons a good night and went his own way.

A brawny dwarf and a lean troll stood guard at the entrance to the Black Prince's tent.  They bowed low as he swept past them with a vague nod of acknowledgment.  

The tent itself was made of fine, crisp canvas and adorned with fringed drapery that evoked the same desert aesthetic as Wrathion's clothing.  The interior was furnished with a folding table and chairs and lit by a paper lantern in pandaren style.  Of more immediate interest was the bed.  More accurately, it was a large basket woven from dark reeds, broad enough to accommodate both whelps with room to spare, and overflowing with plush pillows. 

Wrathion shifted into his true body and dived in.   Cybela gathered a red blanket around the basket before doing the same.

Despite the odd, unfamiliar surroundings, the scent and warmth of each other's bodies felt like home.  Both whelps were soon fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

The princes and their entourages soon settled in to the strange rhythm of life on the Timeless Isle.  The area was a hub of activity at all hours of the day, and the numerous reports from Blacktalon agents and his champions kept Wrathion entertained.  He managed to sneak off and explore a bit on his own, although he had to do so when Cybela was distracted.  She worried far too much about him being injured.

While returning from one such excursion around the isle to spy on the yaungol and their strange fire cult, the Black Prince passed by the corner of the arena where Chi-Ji awaited the next challengers.  Without a conscious decision to do so, he found himself changing his path to approach the Celestial.

"Ah, the dragon prince.  You look well," the softly-glowing bird said.

"Great Crane," he said with a bow.

Chi-Ji lowered his head to study him more closely.   "You bear more hope now than when last we met."

Wrathion scratched the back of his neck awkwardly before recalling himself and resuming a more dignified posture.  "Things are coming together," he said vaguely.  "And...you stressed the importance of having friends.  I have acquired a close confidant since we last spoke.  One of my own species."

"I am glad to hear it," the Crane said sincerely.   The serene warmth in his voice reminded Wrathion of Alexstrasza.  "Do not forget.  Hope is not something distant and uncertain.  You must live every day with hope in your heart.  No matter how dark and uncertain the moment may be, there will always be light again.  Believe in yourself and your friends."

Wrathion sensed that Chi-Ji was not merely reciting a generic message.  A slight chill ran down his spine as the Crane spoke of dark and uncertain times.  What did he know?

A ray of crimson energy extended out from the Crane's aura and enveloped him briefly, and he felt a surge of calm optimism wash away his trepidation.

"Thank you, Great Crane," he whispered.   "I...try."

Chi-Ji gave a faint chuckle.  "Never lose hope, young prince.  It will carry you through dire times when nothing else will.  When strength, wisdom and fortitude fail you, hope will rekindle them."

"I will remember," he said solemly.

"Wrathion!  There you are!" Cybela called.   She elbowed her way through the crowd, apologizing to everyone she bumped into, until she joined him in front of the Celestial.  "I've been looking all over for you!"

He successfully masked his guilt over exploring alone by taking her hand and making formal introductions.  "Cybelastrasza, meet the Red Crane, Chi-Ji, Celestial of the South."

"Oh my!  It is an honor, your Celestialness," she said, making a deep curtsey.

It was difficult to judge expressions on an avian face, but Chi-Ji looked pleased.  "Ah, now here is one who does not need to be reminded of the power of hope.  You may be a red _dragon_ , young one, but I sense the message of the Red Crane in your heart."

Cybela blushed.  "Um, thank you, sir.  It's just how I am."

Wrathion put an arm around her shoulders.  "This is the confidant I was just telling you about, Great Crane."

"I see.  I sense a strong bond between you."

"I saved his life," she said shyly.

"And she has become like a clutchsister to me."

Cybela turned to look at him with a surprised smile.  She had said such things about him before, but it was the first time she had heard him return the sentiment in so many words.  She hugged him tightly.

"Excellent," Chi-Ji said.  "You will need each other's strength."

With that, the towering crane walked away at an unhurried pace.

"Wow," Cybela breathed as she watched him go.   "The sheer power coming from him...  That's kind of how the Life Binder felt before the Aspects lost their powers."

"The Celestials are impressive beings, if a bit wordy at times," Wrathion said, straightening his jacket as they walked back toward where Anduin and Kairoz were talking at their usual table.  "I visited all four of them at their temples shortly before I met you.  The Red Crane was...most enlightening.  He seemed to understand me on a level that few ever have."   He gave her a significant look and put a hand on her back.  "You are in illustrious company, my dear."

Cybela grinned and leaned against him as they walked.   "I'm honored."

They reached Kairoz's table.  "Welcome back," Anduin said.  "Everything okay?"

"Yes, quite.  I was just visiting with the Red Crane," Wrathion said with more than a hint of bragging.

"Isn't he amazing?" Anduin said, face brightening.

"You've...met?"

"Oh, yes!  When I was in Krasarang, before I was injured, I helped to cleanse his temple of the Sha of Despair.  It was terrible to see such a beautiful place corrupted like that.  I've been meaning to get back down there to see how it is now, but...well, things happened."

Wrathion wasn't sure whether to feel jealous at Anduin's apparent familiarity with Chi-Ji, intrigued by the stories he could share, or angry that Anduin hadn't told him before.  "Yes, things happened," he said with a sneer.

"Prince Anduin has been telling me about his ordeal," Kairoz said.  "You're a remarkable young man, to risk life and limb by facing Garrosh Hellscream like that."

Anduin looked down modestly.  "I had to.  He was going to use the Divine Bell.  Given what happened to Theramore, I knew what he was capable of.  I couldn't stand by and let that happen to another city."

"No, _you_ couldn't stand by and let it happen, which is what makes you a class above many others."

The human prince shrugged in embarrassment.

Kairoz opened his mouth, about to say something else, when Wrathion suddenly slumped sideways in his chair.  Right was closer than Left and reacted immediately, catching him before he could hit the floor.

"Wrathion!" Cybela cried.

His red eyes were open, following objects that only he could see, and he did not react to anything being said to him.

"He's having another vision," Right said quietly, firmly holding him in his chair.  The prince's head flopped forward, and his turban slid over his eyes.

Cybela made a concerned noise and helped Right support him.

"Nothing to do but wait it out," the bodyguard murmured.

Kairoz stood and came closer, peering intently at the unconscious prince.  "Fascinating..."

Within a minute, Wrathion came awake with a jolt.  He gasped as if emerging from a long swim, pushing the turban up his forehead with a shaking hand.  "Oh my."

"Wrathion!  Are you all right?" Cybela asked, gripping his shoulder tightly.

"Yes, I...guess so," he said, blinking heavily.   "I need to lie down."

"Shift, Your Majesty," Right whispered.

He closed his eyes to concentrate.  It happened much more slowly than usual, but he shrank and transformed into his true body.  Right gently scooped him up in her arms and, without bothering to say a word to anyone else, carried him toward his tent.  Cybela and Left followed close behind.

Kairoz watched them go, rubbing his chin in thought.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion moaned pitifully as Right laid him down in the basket-bed in his tent.  "Oh, my head," he whined.

Right stepped back and let Cybela take over.  The red-haired "elf" knelt by the basket and ran her hands over his body while chanting healing spells.  The black whelp visibly relaxed as green and gold light pulsed around him.

"There.  Better?" Cybela asked.

"Still dizzy, but...yes.  Thank you," he said breathlessly.

"What did you see this time?"

He frowned and put a paw over his eyes.  "It was...odd.  Not like the other visions I've had.  I was...older.  A century or so, I think.  I was standing in a field, with nothing but yellow-green grass as far as I could see in all directions."  He swallowed before continuing.   "There were four blossoms in front of me, tall as sunflowers but in different colors.  The largest two were red and blue.  The others were a bit smaller, in gold and green."

"Gold...or bronze?" 

He lowered his paw from his face to look up at her.   "What?"

"Red, blue, bronze, green...  That can't be a coincidence."

He blinked slowly.  "Aha.  Clever thinking.   I believe you're on to something, there.   You see, as I looked at these flowers, I felt drawn to them.  I stepped closer and touched the red one, and felt...stronger.  Rejuvenated."

Cybela gave a knowing smile.

"Then I grabbed the gold...er, bronze flower.  I felt even better.  I knew somehow that the other two would be just as invigorating if I could have them, as well.  I reached for the green--and woke up."

"Well, that's easy enough to interpret," she said, patting his shoulder.  "Kairoz was right.  You need to forge connections to the rest of the dragonflights.  First the red..."  She laid a hand on her chest and grinned.  "Then the bronze..."  She made a vague gesture in the direction of where they had left Kairoz.  "Next apparently we need to be on the lookout for a green dragon, and a blue after that."

"Hmm...  Interesting.  I was many decades older in the vision, though, so I have the feeling the others won't be forthcoming in the near future.  Still, something to keep in mind.  For now..."  He grimaced.   "I think I'm going to take a nap until this dizziness wears off."

"At least you didn't get as sick as you did the last time you had a vision."

"Yes, well, my stomach was in a rather...delicate circumstance, then.  That was the first and hopefully only time that I've actually vomited after a vision.  Usually I'm just...woozy."  He settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes.  

Cybela tucked a blanket around him and kissed his forehead.

His draconic snout curved into a faint smile, and he was soon snoring softly.

 

 

* * *

 

Later that same "day" (it was getting harder and harder to remember what time it was on the mainland), Wrathion was feeling back to normal.   He, Cybela and Anduin stood watching Niuzao fight two dozen adventurers at once in the arena.

Cybela winced and covered her eyes briefly as the giant ox trampled three dwarves, his enormous hooves pounding on the stone floor.  "Oh, those poor dwarves!"

Wrathion sniffed.  "They knew what they were getting into, and the Celestials heal everyone afterward.  It may be _ritual_ combat, but it's still combat."

Anduin cheered as a human paladin threw her shield in a shining arc, striking Niuzao on the back of his head.  The Black Ox bellowed and turned to charge after the paladin.

Over the din of the other spectators and the battle, they didn't hear Kairoz approaching, but Left and Right were well aware.  They made no move to stop the bronze, however.  Their prince was on cordial terms with him, so they would only interfere if he made a threat.

Kairoz, however, was smiling pleasantly and his body language was both elegant and nonchalant.  "Ah, the thunder of Niuzao's hooves.  You can feel it right here, can't you?"  He bumped his fist against his sternum.

Anduin nodded in agreement.  "It's really something to see them in action!  I pity anyone who gets on a Celestial's bad side!"

Cybela flinched at the sound of crunching armor as the Black Ox swept several combatants up with his horns and sent them flying.  "I pity the ones fighting him now!"

Wrathion rolled his eyes.  "I told you, they all get fully healed as soon as the fight is over."

"I know, but it must hurt terribly in the meantime!"

Kairoz chuckled.  "Those are seasoned adventurers.   They've faced much worse, I guarantee you.  Now, Black Prince, if you aren't too enthralled by the display, I would like a few words with you."

Wrathion looked over his shoulder at the bronze, and the memory of the golden flower in his vision made him smile.  "Of course."

"Your bodyguards are, of course, welcome, as I am certain you trust them completely."

"That I do, but I assure you, you won't even know they are here."  He turned to Cybela and Anduin.  "Let me know who wins," he said before following Kairoz away.

Left and Right trailed at a respectful distance, silent as ghosts.

Kairoz made small talk about the wildlife as they strolled through the grassy, wooded area that separated the Celestials' arena from the beach.   "You'll notice that all four of the Celestials are represented by the creatures that live on the isle," he said, gesturing at a flock of cranes milling about  nearby.

"Yes, I've seen the oxen and tigers, as well.  The wind serpents were not nearly as friendly as the ones I've encountered at the Temple of the Jade Serpent, however," Wrathion said with a slight frown.  He did not elaborate, but his one and only attempt to approach one had ended in a very undignified scramble to get out of the way of a gust of flame breath.

Kairoz gave a knowing smile.  "Well, like our own species, they are not all alike.  These seem aligned with Ordos' cult."

They reached the rocky edge of the beach where turtles nested just above the tideline.  They were peaceful unless provoked, which of course some adventurers did, but for the moment it was a tranquil scene.  Hatchlings flopped around in the sand while adults, some the size of large carriages, lumbered by.

Kairoz sat down on an outcrop of sun-baked stone, leaning back with a relaxed sigh.  Wrathion joined him, suppressing a noise of appreciation at the heat of the stone soaking into his body.

"A nice, balmy spot I discovered soon after coming to the isle," Kairoz explained.  "We bronzes favor deserts, you know, so the rest of Pandaria has felt a bit chilly for my tastes."

"Quite pleasant, yes," Wrathion said.   "Now, you...wanted to speak with me?"  He did not say "alone" because Right and Left were unobstrusively watching from a short distance away, but he knew they would not breathe a word about anything that transpired unless he specifically told them to.

"Yes.  You are quite an unusual dragon.  I am not speaking of your status as the last and only uncorrupted member of the black flight.   You are the first dragon I have ever heard of outside of my own flight who has visions of the future."

Wrathion swallowed nervously.  "It's not something I can control.  As you saw earlier, they strike without warning.  And they aren't clear, literal predictions, either.  They're more like dreams...or feelings."   He decided there was no harm in sharing the content of his latest vision.   "Today, for instance, I saw myself standing in an endless field, faced with four flowers:  one in each of the colors of the other dragonflights.  I felt compelled to gather them, and as soon as I touched the red flower I was overwhelmed with positive feelings.  The, uh, _bronze_ flower was the same.  The vision ended before I could touch the green or blue.  But I think it's fairly obvious that it's reinforcing what you told me the day we met:  I should ally myself with members of all the dragonflights, to draw from the array of talents and strengths each possesses."

Kairoz nodded slowly as he listened, riveted to every word.   "Amazing," he murmured.

"My first vision urged me to see to the extermination of the corrupted black dragonflight.  The second led me to Pandaria.  The third warned me of the Burning Legion's return.  The fourth...seemed to indicate that I was on the right track as far as readying the world's defenses."  It had also shown how important Cybela and Anduin were, but he chose to gloss over that detail.

"Most curious," Kairoz mused, staring out to sea.

Wrathion let him digest the information in silence, watching a group of tiny turtles follow their mother in a single-file line down the beach.

"And you trust these visions?  You don't know what causes them.  How do you know they carry the truth?"

His brow furrowed.  "Well, I...  I assume it has something to do with the Titan artifact that created me.  But they have been accurate, so far.  For instance, in my first vision I saw Deathwing explode over the Maelstrom.  I didn't even know it _was_ the Maelstrom at the time, and it was months before the final confrontation actually took place there.  I would have had no way of knowing that that was where the Destroyer would meet his end.  Nor would anyone else."

"Hmm."

"And the second vision showed exactly what ship I should be on in order to be among the first to set foot in Pandaria.  The fleet running aground here was simply random chance."

"I see."

"No, I trust my visions.  I may not always understand them as well as I wish I did, but they _feel_ true."

Kairoz turned to him with a contemplative smile.   "And so you use the knowledge you gain from them to try to change the future."

"Of course."  It suddenly dawned on him that, as the guardians of the time streams, the bronze dragonflight might have a problem with such a thing.  "I mean, it's not as if I see exactly how events will unfold.   They're like...strong hunches."

Sensing his trepidation, his companion raised a reassuring palm.  "Do not worry, young prince.  Since the Aspects lost their Titan-given powers, the bronze dragonflight has grown more lenient about such matters.  Regardless, you are doing nothing wrong.  I sense that we share a deep concern for the well-being of Azeroth."

Wrathion nodded earnestly.

"Once, we bronze dragons had a much clearer, albeit still imprecise, view of the timeways and how events intertwined.  Since Deathwing's fall, our visions are frustratingly vague and contradictory.  Where once we could gauge the probability of one time stream overtaking another, now we are left guessing blindly.   It is...aggravating, to say the least."

"I can imagine."

"Some have stepped back, content to let the timeways unfold without our guidance.  Some of us still try to muddle through as best we can.   It's not easy to take action without knowing how the future will be impacted."

"The rest of the world seems to manage," he said with a wry smile.

"Yes, which is one reason I'm here among the mortals.   Their tenacity in the face of uncertainty is...inspiring."

"That it is," Wrathion said quietly.

They were silent for a minute or so, watching the waves lap against the beach as turtles wandered by.

Kairoz spoke again without turning to look at him.   "I must say, I...feel better, having met you.  There are dark threads woven into your destiny, stretching back to before you were formed.  I cannot say how prevalent they will be in the future--and would not say, even if I could--but I sense that you genuinely care for Azeroth."

"I do."

"The world needs all the help it can get."

"I know."

Kairoz turned to give him an almost paternal smile.   "Good luck, Black Prince."  He clapped a friendly hand on Wrathion's shoulder and walked away.

Wrathion shifted into his true body and stretched out on the warm rock, soaking in the sunlight.  What a nice change, to get approval and encouragement from a new acquaintance instead of suspicion!

He considered taking advantage of the moment of solitude to check on his various agents through the bloodgems that allowed him to see through their eyes.  He was still feeling a bit light-headed from his vision, however, and decided not to use such complex magic at the moment.

Whatever was going on in the rest of the world, it could wait just a little longer.  After all, at last report the Alliance and rebel forces were converging on Orgrimmar, and the city would soon be under siege. It was only a matter of time before the Horde was subjugated by the Alliance, and Azeroth would stand united to face the Burning Legion.

Everything was going exactly according to his plans.  He let himself drift off to sleep under Right and Left's watchful eyes, basking in the never-moving sun.

 


	6. Chapter 6

One afternoon--at least as time was reckoned in the world outside the Timeless Isle--Anduin invited Wrathion to take a walk.  "I need to exercise my leg," he explained.  "It's not good for it to be standing here all day."

"Very well.  It would be nice to get away from all this noise for awhile."

Left, Right and two guards in Stormwind colors followed at a respectful distance as the pair of princes strolled around the outskirts of the Celestials' arena.  Fuzzy ox calves grazed on the grass, and a magnificent white crane stood guard over a nest full of eggs.

Neither prince said anything at first, just enjoying the relative peace and quiet after hours of being surrounded by crowds.  In the distance they could hear spectators cheering and armor clanging as Xuen sparred with a group of challengers.

Anduin veered toward the tranquil pond that stretched just beyond the Emperor's dais, and a group of young cranes scattered as he approached.   "I wish I'd gotten around to fishing here," he said, squinting across the placid water.

Wrathion raised an eyebrow.  "Past tense, Anduin?   Anything I should know about?"

The human prince turned to him with a melancholy smile.   "Yeah.  For a moment, can we stop pretending that you don't know everything that's going on with the war effort?"

Wrathion gave a start, then a guilty smirk.

Anduin continued, looking back out over the green water.   "As I'm sure you're well aware, the siege of Orgrimmar is going to start any day now.  My father...wants me at his side."  Joy and disbelief mingled in his voice.  "So I'm leaving in a few hours to join him.  And I don't know when I'll be back to Pandaria."  He cast an apologetic look at the dragon.

"Oh.  I see."  Wrathion briefly faltered at the thought of being separated from his friend.  He straightened his posture and forced a vaguely bored expression onto his face.  "Well, duty calls, and all that.  Do send my regards to the High King."

Anduin saw right through him, of course.  He had a way of doing that that alternatively irritated and touched him.  "I'll write.   Even if you're not at the tavern, your Blacktalons are everywhere, so they can get messages to you."

"Of course."

Turning from the view of the pond, Anduin faced the Black Prince with a worried frown.  "Don't...do anything stupid, all right?"

Wrathion gave a single laugh.  "Fine advice coming from someone who faced Garrosh Hellscream in one-on-one combat without even carrying a proper weapon!"

Anduin shook his head, used to the dragon's teasing by now.   "I mean it, Wrathion.  I know you have a lot of information at your disposal, but knowledge and wisdom are two different things.  I know what it's like being thrust into a situation where you have to take on a ton of responsibility before you're really old enough to understand how the game is played.  It can be overwhelming."

"Dragons age differently--"

"I know that," Anduin interrupted, having heard the same counterargument before.  "You're still playing a dangerous game with people who have been at it for decades--or even _centuries_ \--longer than you have.  Just don't get too overconfident.  I...  I don't want to see you get hurt."

"But I--  That's--  You--" Wrathion stammered indignantly.  "Just because _you_ were outmatched by the eldest daughter of Deathwing himself doesn't mean that _I_ am over my head, Anduin Wrynn.   I know what I'm doing, and everything is going according to plan."

"So far."

"I am capable of adjusting if need be," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.  "For instance..."  He stepped closer and lowered his voice, although only their guards were around to overhear.   "You've long pestered me as to my loyalties in the current war.  As the conflict builds to its crescendo, allow me to let you in on a little secret, just between the two of us.  In the beginning, I believed the Horde would emerge the victor, and planned accordingly.  As Hellscream's control fractured and I saw more of how both sides operated, I shifted my allegiance to the Alliance.  Your father has my full support going forward.  I am confident he will do the right thing for Azeroth when the time comes."

Anduin did not look quite as overjoyed as Wrathion had expected.  "You were backing the Horde to begin with?"

"What I told you before is still true, my dear prince," Wrathion said, returning his voice and posture to normal.  "My true loyalties are to Azeroth alone.  Horde, Alliance, mogu, pandaren, high elf, blood elf...we all inhabit this precious world, and I will lend my support to whomever I deem a worthy ally in protecting the planet.  Your father and the other peoples of the Alliance have proved the strongest.  That is a compliment."

"I...suppose so."  The human still looked troubled.

"And you, Anduin..."  Wrathion looked at the other prince's shoes rather than make eye contact.  His voice dropped to just above a whisper as he awkwardly added, "Your company has been...immensely enjoyable.   I...will miss you."  With that, he spun on his heel and marched back toward the Celestials' arena.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion found Cybela playing catch with a group of pandaren children.  One cub barely old enough to walk reached out eagerly with his chubby paws and caught the small leather ball.  Cybela clapped to congratulate him, and the three older children joined in.  The infant beamed happily and jumped up and down.   Apparently he had not been able to catch it before.

Cybela saw Wrathion standing impatiently at the edge of the walkway that surrounded the arena.  "I should go, now.  Have fun!"   She stooped to pat the youngest on the head.

"Bye, Miss Cybela!"  The four young pandaren scurried off with their ball to play elsewhere.

She watched them go with a wide smile.  "Aren't they adorable?  That tiniest one isn't even a year old yet!"

Wrathion had a sour, unimpressed expression, his arms folded behind his back.  "When I was his age I was orchestrating the extermination of an entire dragonflight," he said dryly.

She rolled her eyes.  "Pandaren are not dragons."

"Clearly."

Cybela turned her full attention to him now that the children were out of sight.  "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?" he asked defensively.

She tilted her head at him with a smirk.  "Wrathion, I know you.  It's written all over your body language."

He looked away, embarrassed to be that transparent.   "The siege of Orgrimmar draws near.  Anduin is leaving to join his father, and I need to be back at the tavern where I can monitor events more closely."

"Anduin's going to the front lines?" she gasped.

"I very much doubt that.  The king will ensure that his sole heir is well protected.  Still, he will be leaving later today."

"Aww," Cybela whined.  "When will he be back?"

"Depending on how events unfold...there's no telling."  Wrathion did his best to sound dismissive and uninterested, but Cybela saw right through him.

"You're going to miss him terribly, I bet," she said, putting a hand on his arm.

"What Anduin Wrynn does is none of my concern," he snapped.  "He has his duties to attend to, just as I do."

"But he was your first real friend."

Wrathion opened his mouth to make another snide comment, then thought better of it and sighed instead.  "First, yes.  But not only."   He gave her a half-hearted smile, looped his arm around hers, and walked back toward where Kairoz was chatting with Lorewalker Cho.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later--toward evening, as best as they could reckon with the bizarre way time worked on the isle--Left's wyvern and Right's gryphon once more took to the skies, each with a whelp in their saddlebags.  Wrathion brushed off attempts at conversation, however, so eventually Cybela fell asleep.

The Black Prince remained awake, gazing down at the lush greenery of the Jade Forest passing by far below.  Spectacular though the view was, it grew monotonous after awhile and he found his mind wandering.  Curiosity over the state of the war finally made him duck back down in the saddlebag and turn his thoughts outward to the Blacktalon agents stationed in Durotar. 

Each carried a special gem infused with his own blood and magic, and when he closed his eyes and concentrated he was able to see through their eyes.   He carefully sorted through the glimmering red lines in his mindscape, recognizing agents and champions alike, spread all over the world at his behest.  He sent his thoughts down a particular line of energy, and felt the usual, peculiar _pop_ as his view shifted.

This Blacktalon agent was a Darkspear troll, cleverly camouflaged amid the rusty-red landscape.   She was perched high on a rocky hill, and through her eyes Wrathion could clearly see the fortifications around the front entrance to the Horde capital.  The city had been formidable to begin with, its high walls topped with spikes, but now additional barricades and supplies surrounded the main gates.  New towers had been erected near the beach to protect the harbor.  The troll, unaware that the prince was monitoring her at that moment, glanced upward and quickly hunched back into the shadows of an outcropping of stone as a large shape passed in front of the sun.

When she dared peek out again, Wrathion saw what she had been hiding from.  A hulking protodragon flapped in wide circles around the area.  It was difficult to tell what color it was in the glare of the bright, desert sun, but it mattered little.  The allegiance and abilities of these bestial precursors of modern dragons did not depend on scale color.

Some of the champions and adventurers who were veterans of the Northrend campaign had protodrakes serving as their flying mounts.  Wrathion had been highly interested in them at first, but soon realized they were only a bit more intelligent than gryphons.

Still, the creatures he had seen were nothing compared to the magnificent being now soaring high above Durotar.  The only dragons he had ever seen that rivaled it in size were Alexstrasza and--

Fahrad.

The view of Durotar immediately evaporated, replaced by the dull interior of Right's saddlebag.

Wrathion grit his teeth in frustration.  Damn it.   His concentration had been shattered by the mere thought of the rogue.  Oh well, he had seen enough for now.  Orgrimmar was heavily fortified, and the siege would not be a quick and easy affair.  Very well.  There was time.  Let the strongest prevail.

The black whelp curled into a ball and tried very hard not to think about his parents, Anduin, or anything else upsetting.  It didn't work.

The ache of grief blossomed anew in his chest as he remembered the one and only time he had seen Fahrad in his true body.  He had been a spectacular sight, towering over the Ravenholdt practice ring with brown-black scales shining in the sun, powerful muscles straining as he fought the voices telling him to attack.  His horns were akin to a ram's, curling around the sides of his head in fearsome symmetry.

At the time Wrathion had never dreamed they were related, much less father and son, so he had not looked for similarities between them.  Fahrad had told him that he had his mother's eyes and snout, and he believed that, but surely he resembled the rogue, as well.  The shape of his tail, the arch of his wing membranes, the color of his horns...

Inevitably, no matter how much Wrathion tried to keep the image fixed in his mind, his memories took over and the scene continued until all he could think about was how Fahrad had appeared, sprawled in a lifeless heap in the dust.  Blood pooled under him, draining from the wound the Black Prince's first champion made at the back of his neck.

How fitting that the killing blow should be there, Wrathion mused.  Fahrad had borne the shame of his long-ago fratricide in the scar on his throat and the scratchiness of his voice, reminded constantly of what he had done.   In the end, he was put out of his misery by a second neck wound, a mirror to the first.

Wrathion suddenly realized he was making small whimpers of distress, and twitched in embarrassment.  How old did he have to be before he would stop doing that?  Hadn't his body realized by now that there was no parent or older sibling around to answer?

Except there was, in a way.  Cybela was sleeping too soundly to hear him, however, and he was grateful.  He appreciated her company most of the time, but right now he didn't feel like wallowing in his emotions.

He popped up to look out of the saddlebag again.  It was nearly dark, now, with the forest below in heavy shadow.  The sky faded from inky purple in the east to a vivid orange-pink in the west.

"How much longer until we reach the Veiled Stair?" he asked Right.

"Not too long now, Your Majesty," she said over her shoulder.  "Twenty minutes, maybe thirty."

"Very well."  He slouched back into the bag and tried to focus on the plans he would put into motion as soon as Orgrimmar fell to the Alliance.

 

* * *

 

The Tavern in the Mists was just as they had left it, except for the absence of Stormwind's crown prince.  Tong welcomed Wrathion and his entourage with polite formality.

Cybela barely woke up as Left carried the saddlebag upstairs and gently dumped her onto the futon.  It _was_ bedtime, and Wrathion was fatigued, but his mind was too active to consider sleep just yet.  He checked the locked, wooden chest in the corner of his room, and found no sign that it had been disturbed in his absence.  He murmured the spell to open it and peeked inside.   The smooth, dark brown stone Fahrad had given him lay on top of a pile of parchment.

Wrathion removed his gloves and reverently placed his hand over the stone.  There was no magic left in the talisman, of course, and it was room temperature, but something about touching it made him feel more...centered.  Perhaps as a black dragon he could "read" stone in a way that no one else could.   Or perhaps it was completely his imagination.

He simply stood there for a minute, eyes barely open, concentrating on the smooth familarity of the stone.

_It's all coming together,_ he said silently both to himself and to Fahrad's memory.  _Azeroth_ will _be united to face the Burning Legion.  I succeeded in my first mission, to purge the corrupted black dragonflight.  Soon I'll have accomplished my second great task.  Surely you would be proud of me._

The rogue had already been proud of him, though.  He had said so, during one of their last quiet moments together.  The memory made Wrathion's chest swell with confidence even now.  He was the Black Prince, the last of his kind, guardian of Azeroth.  Grandson of the Earth Warder.  Son of an exceedingly clever, stoic, brave and talented dragon.

A smile crept onto the prince's face.  Fahrad had been proud of him, yes.  And, as the shock of learning his true lineage had worn off, Wrathion found himself feeling proud of the rogue in return.  It was an odd feeling to _not_ be ashamed of the dragon who had sired him, but not at all an unpleasant one.

He shut the lid of the chest again, recast the spell to keep it sealed, then shifted back into his true form.   As usual, the room was too chilly for draconic tastes, and the body heat of a second member of his species was all too welcome.  He gladly burrowed into the nest of blankets beside Cybela.

The red whelp stirred at the movement, latching onto him with all four limbs.   Wrathion snuggled down with a contented chirp, at peace with his heritage and optimistic about the future.  A faint smile stayed on his reptilian snout even after he had fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

It was several days later, and by all reports the siege of Orgrimmar was proceeding as expected.  Wrathion sat at his usual table, in a light trance as he checked in with various agents near the city.   He had Blacktalons among both the Alliance forces and the Horde rebels, and through their eyes he was able to watch the harbor fall to Stormwind's navy.  He felt a pang of regret to see so many magnificent protodragons being blasted from the sky with cannonfire, but such was war.   The monstrous mechanical guardian of the city's front gates was handily disassembled by the invading forces.  

The upheaval caused by the unnecessarily _rude_ way the dark shaman were treating the elements made it nearly impossible to use his blood magic to see what was going on beyond the walls.  This was annoying, but a minor concern.

There were his champions, too, of course.  The best, strongest, most accomplished adventurers the Horde and Alliance had to offer had been doing his bidding for the past year, delving into the strongholds of mogu and mantid alike to sate his curiosity and prove their worth.  In return he had lavished rewards upon them, all leading up to this moment.  His hand-picked champions were on the vanguard of the assault, and even if he couldn't view their every move he had confidence in their abilities.

Any moment now he expected word to arrive that Garrosh Hellscream's head was on a pike by Orgrimmar's gates.  No doubt the Alliance would secure the area before moving on to capture Thunder Bluff.  Perhaps Baine Bloodhoof would even be wise enough to bend the knee and spare his people a prolonged siege.  

With Kalimdor colored blue on the map, he expected Regent Lord Lorthemar to resume talks with Stormwind about rejoining the Alliance.  They had been well on their way before that nastiness in Dalaran occured, but the sindorei were notoriously dedicated to self-preservation, and they would see which way the wind was blowing.

The Forsaken would be the biggest hurdle, but if a strike force could take out the valkyr they would have no way to resurrect reinforcements, and a simple war of attrition would wear them down.  If worse came to worse perhaps he could use Cybela's influence to have some of the red dragonflight purge Lordaeron with the same cleansing flame they had used at the Wrathgate.  He wasn't sure such a thing was possible, but it bore looking into, if it came to that.

Wrathion breathed a puff of his own flame over his teacup to bring it back to the proper temperature.  Looking through the bloodgems for too long could give him a headache, so he pulled his thoughts back into the tavern and indulged in a moment of relaxation.

Cybela was chattering with someone on the front porch.  As soon as she noticed he was no longer concentrating so intently, she came back inside, nearly walking on her tiptoes in excitement.  "Oh, Wrathion, one of Farmer Fung's mushan is giving birth to a calf!  Would it be all right if I went down to see it?"  She clasped her hands to her chest and bounced up and down, red boartails swinging.

He quirked an eyebrow, not sharing her enthusiasm but understanding why, as a red dragon, such an event would be irresistible.  "Of course.  You needn't ask my permission, you know.  Go.  Enjoy yourself."

"Oh, I will!"  She whirled around and rushed outside again, rambling about "the miracle of life" or somesuch rubbish.

Wrathion shrugged and returned his attention to the battlefront reports on the table in front of him.  The last update had come in nearly two hours ago, now, delivered by a Blacktalon mage who had teleported directly from Orgrimmar to the Vale.  The Valley of Strength was a bloodbath and broken siege equipment littered the Drag, but from there the invaders had disappeared into the Cleft of Shadow.  His agents had heard rumors of a massive underground complex that was the heart of Garrosh's war machine, and the latest intelligence confirmed this.  Yet no news had emerged to tell him what was going on below the surface.

Updated information could arrive _any time now_ , he thought, drumming the clawed fingers of his gloves on the table.

He idly wondered if, for once, Anduin had better intelligence than he did.  The thought was galling.  It was easier to be irritated than worried for his friend's safety, so he stewed on that for awhile.

He sifted through the stack of papers.  There had been a report last week that high-ranking members of the Shado-Pan, including the recently-injured Taran Zhu himself, had left their monastery in Kun Lai and were seen boarding a ship in Zouchin village.  At the time he considered this development unrelated to the events in Durotar, but he had a nagging suspicion that there was something significant about it.

Wrathion stood and stretched with a grimace.  He'd been sitting on this bench with no back support for hours now, and he was getting restless.   Surely the next report would be coming in any moment now.  Didn't his agents know how crucial it was for him to have _current_ intel?

Tong announced that lunch would be served soon, and Wrathion reluctantly ceased pacing to return to his table.  When his meal arrived it was overcooked, as always.  No matter how many times he and Cybela explained that they wanted _raw_ meat, the tavern's cooks insisted on serving it "rare."   Unfortunately, "rare" and "raw" were not the same.   Despite months of eating such fare without a second thought, now that he knew better he much preferred the more natural alternative.

He caught himself tapping his knife against his plate, and set it down with a scowl.  Was he...nervous?  Absurd.  He had no doubts about the outcome of the siege.  Everything was going according to plan.

He pushed his plate away, finding his appetite lackluster.   It was just because the meat was overcooked, of course.  Anxiety had nothing to do with it.

" _Where_ is that report?" he snarled suddenly, slamming a hand on the table.

Tong looked over, but when he realized the prince was not asking for anything related to his meal he resumed polishing glass bottles on a table by the door.

Left and Right were expressionless.  The worgen guard by the back door gave a slight shrug.

"Do I have to go to Orgrimmar myself to find out what's going on?" Wrathion snapped to no one in particular.  "Honestly, this is ridiculous.  How am I supposed to--"  He cut himself off when he saw a goblin in Blacktalon leathers stumble in the front door, out of breath from hurrying.   " _Well_?  What news?"  He nearly knocked the winded agent over in his rush to greet her. 

The goblin was panting for breath and most of her aqua-green hair had come loose from her ponytail during what must have been a frenzied flight from the Vale to the tavern.  Her eyes were wide with alarm, but whether that was because of the news she carried or the prince's reaction wasn't clear.  "Hellscream's been defeated," she said.

"Excellent!"  Wrathion gave a giddy laugh of relief before recalling himself and nodding in more dignified approval.  "I trust King Wrynn acquitted himself as expected?"

"Not...exactly," the goblin said hesitantly, her already shrill voice rising an octave.

Wrathion blinked.  "Meaning...?"

"Well, ya see, Yer Majesty, I'm gettin' this second hand from a highly trusted source--not for cheap, I might add--but apparently--"

He narrowed his eyes in a silent warning to get to the point.

Catching the hint, the goblin spoke even faster, stammering in her haste to get the information out.  "Hellscream ain't dead.  The S-Shado-Pan are b-bringin' him back to s-stand trial."

"A _trial_?  Ridiculous.  What do they hope to accomplish with that?"

"I d-don't know, Yer Majesty."

"Ah, well, as long as his reign as Warchief is over and the Alliance is in control, the outcome is the same."

"Uh, about that, Yer Princeness."

He grew deadly still and fixed her with a piercing gaze.   "Yes...?"

The goblin slouched meekly and gave an apologetic wince.   "The Alliance ain't exactly in control.  Vol'jin has been named Warchief."

"What?  Don't tell me Wrynn was foolish enough to let his forces get pushed out of the city by the rebels."

"No, from what I heard from my very reputable source, Wrynn just told the Horde leaders to watch their step or else, and...left."

Wrathion stared at her for several long, uncomfortable seconds, barely breathing.  "He... _what_?" he said at last, as if not trusting his ears.

The goblin squirmed uncomfortably and gave a nervous laugh.   "The Alliance pulled out of Orgrimmar.  Voluntarily.  Vol'jin's the Warchief now."

A muscle in the Black Prince's cheek twitched, his only visible reaction.

"So...yeah," the goblin said, edging backward toward the front door of the tavern.  "That's all I know right now, but as soon as--"

"That's not _possible!_ " Wrathion burst out with such sudden vehemence that even Left and Right flinched.  "It makes no sense!  Your sources are obviously mistaken.  Now get out of my sight and don't return unless you can confirm beyond a glimmer of doubt that your _absurd_ tale is true!"  A tongue of flame darted out of his mouth along with a puff of smoke.

The terrified goblin nearly tripped on her own feet in her headlong rush to exit the tavern.

Wrathion whirled around and looked to his bodyguards as if one of them had a better answer.  Left's brow was creased in thought, and Right seemed a bit confused, but neither spoke.

He flopped down in his seat again, no longer making any attempt to be subtle about the agitated way he drummed his fingers into the table.  The claws of his gloves began to leave marks on the finish, but he neither noticed nor cared.   "It can't be," he muttered.  "Why in the world would Wrynn allow such a thing?  He wouldn't throw away an opportunity like that!"   What little he had had for lunch seemed to congeal in his belly, and he found himself wishing he hadn't eaten at all.  "Honor.  Could this be some asinine hangup about 'honor'?  No, defeating an enemy in battle is the most honorable thing there is, right?"  He turned to look at Left, who gave a curt nod.

"Mercy?" Right suggested.

Wrathion snorted.  "Mercy would be uniting both sides under the Alliance banner, so there will never be another war between them!"

"Subjugation and safety, or freedom and battle...I know which I would choose," Left said quietly.

Wrathion glared at her, and she did not dare speak further.   "A united Azeroth, or obliteration by the Burning Legion.  _Those_ are our choices," he said bitingly.

" _We_ know that," Right said calmly.   "Not everyone does."  

"I have _tried_!" he shouted, slamming his fist on the table.  "I have done nothing but try for the last _year_ to make everyone see reason!  But no, they can't see past their own spearpoints!   How many times did I tell Anduin how important it was to stand together against the Legion?  How many times did I demand that he tell his father about my warnings?   How many hours have I spent crafting gems for my champions?   I have used _my own blood_ to imbue their equipment!  I have done _everything_ I could to prepare the world.  And what do I get for my efforts?  Complaints that I ask too much for literally _priceless_ enchantments.  Distrust from everyone who can't see past the color of my scales.  Jokes behind my back about my age.  And now that big-chinned buffoon in Stormwind thinks he can leave the Horde intact?  No!"  He stood, breathing smoke again, and kicked over the bench he'd been sitting on.  "Unacceptable!"

By now the few adventurers and locals who had been in the tavern had cleared out, leaving only Tong and the Blacktalons, none of whom dared say a word.

He paced back and forth across the room, muttering.  It was safer to give himself over to anger than to fear, although the latter gnawed at the back of his mind.  The Legion was still coming.  Memories of his third vision flashed before his eyes.  The world's great cities lay in silent ruin, the sky churned with green flame, and not a living thing stirred anywhere on the planet.

Panic welled up once more but he pushed it back with a frustrated growl.  Feel fury, not terror, he commanded himself.  Fury could be directed to serve a purpose.  Terror would only paralyze him, and he could not afford inaction.  Azeroth could not afford it.

Approaching footsteps made him turn to look at the front entrance again.  Another Blacktalon agent, this one a lanky night elf, stood in the doorway.  "My Prince," he said, bowing.

"News of Orgrimmar?" Wrathion said eagerly.   Please, let that goblin's information be wrong...

"I was unable to get below ground to observe what happened directly," the elf apologized, "but I have reliable word that King Varian and Thrall agreed to let the Shado-Pan take Garrosh into custody to stand trial in Pandaria for his war crimes."

" _And_?"

"The Alliance fleet is preparing to sail from Bladefist Bay as we speak.  King Varian and Prince Anduin are aboard the flagship."

Anduin.  Could he have influenced his father to take a more "peaceful" course and let bygones be bygones?  Surely not, after all their conversations about the importance of a united front against the Legion.  The other prince _knew_ how important this was...didn't he?

Wrathion swallowed hard.  No.  He trusted Anduin.   They were friends...weren't they?

The night elf Blacktalon continued.  "Vol'jin has assumed the mantle of Warchief with Thrall's blessing."

"And Wrynn allowed this?"  Wrathion tried and only partially succeeded in keeping his voice even.

"Word is, yes.  He warned Vol'jin against further hostilities and pulled Alliance forces out of the city."

Fury anew burned in his chest.  "Oh, he _warned_ them, did he?  No doubt that will be _completely_ effective!"  He threw his hands into the air in disgust and resumed pacing.  "You say this information came to you second-hand?"

"Yes, sir, but from a re--"

"--reliable source, yes, yes," Wrathion interrupted with a dismissive wave.  "Go and find me an eyewitness.  I want this confirmed!"

"Some of your champions were there, as I understand it, sir," the elf said.  "They should be arriving soon, depending on how...involved the celebration is."

Wrathion bared his teeth, far sharper than any real human's.   "What is there to celebrate?" he practically roared.  "If this is true, all my plans are _ruined!_   Now get out!"

The elf bowed and hurried away.

"I've got agents on every continent in the world and none of them can give me a clear picture of what happened in Orgrimmar!" he griped.   Yet he suspected there was more than a little truth in what he had heard thus far.   Unconfirmed, second-hand accounts they may be, but they agreed with each other.   The sinking feeling in his stomach grew stronger, and he stopped pacing to collect himself.

He was standing near the foot of the stairs, and noticed an open stack of flour leaning against the wall.  How dare it stand in his way?   How dare Varian Wrynn not do what was expected of him?

Conflating the two, vastly different irritants, he gave the sack a vigorous kick and snarled, "Idiot king!"  Flour wafted up in clouds, spilling onto the bamboo floor mats.  He spun on his heel and stomped over to where Tong has been polishing glassware.  Fury coiled in his body, and he swept the nearest bottle off the table.  It shattered into a thousand pieces, scattering shards across the floor.

Tong was too shocked to protest, but did _not_ look happy.

"Fools!  Imbeciles!"  Yelling helped to relieve some of the suffocating pressure he felt closing in around him.  It was either that or cry, and he wasn't about to give up that much of his dignity.  Not yet.  

Wrathion stormed to the front door, inhaled deeply, and blew a gust of flame into the air.  Breathing fire in his human form made it harder to maintain his shapeshifting, but at the moment a few scales on his cheeks were the least of his concern.

Tong had silently retrieved a dust pan and a broom and was attempting to clean up the flour and glass from the floor.

The dragon stormed across the room and yelled out the back door.  "A complete waste!"

"Prince Wrathion?" 

He whirled around, immediately recognizing the voice as belonging to one of his champions.  The human mage regarded him from the front doorway with wide, blue eyes, uncertain if she should approach or not.

"You were there!  Is it true, then, what happened in Orgrimmar?"

The mage simply nodded, still taken aback by his anger.

"That fool king!" he raged.  "I did everything in my power.  The whole world was his!  He needed only seize it!"  Wrathion's heart was beating so hard in his chest he wondered if the others could hear it.

The mage looked slightly skeptical, but he cut off her doubts with a dismissive gesture.  

"Oh sure, another year of fighting, enormous casualties trying to take Thunder Bluff...  But the rest of the Horde would've caved _eventually_!"   He suddenly became aware of how dry his throat was.  Without even looking to where the innkeeper was on his hands and knees picking glass off the floor, he barked, "Tong!  Drink!  _Now!_ "

The Pandaren grumbled under his breath but went into the kitchen to comply.

The champion finally spoke.  "So...you were on our side after all."

"What?  Yes, I was backing the Alliance," he said condescendingly.

"There had been whisperings that the opposite was true," she said with an apologetic shrug.

Wrathion snorted.  "I thought Hellscream's victory was assured before he turned half of his Horde against him.  So I changed my allegiance."

The mage raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," he scoffed.   "I'm a black dragon.  My loyalties are my own," he said airily, accepting a cup from Tong.  He took a long drink and handed it back to him without the slighest gesture of gratitude or acknowledgement.  "But that idiot, _idiot_ Wrynn!  'High King' indeed!  Why did he allow another warchief?  He could've united the world under the Alliance banner.  What a fool I was to trust _his_ ambition!"  He crossed his arms on his chest and slouched, his expression part scowl, part pout.  "Should've taken over the throne room myself, like Auntie Onyxia.  Get things _done!_ "  In his ill temper, he didn't even realize that he had referred--correctly--to Onyxia as his aunt.  If the mage noticed the inconsistency from the supposed son of Deathwing, she gave no sign.

A growl rumbled out of the pandaren innkeeper, followed by an outburst of " _Enough_!"

Wrathion's head snapped around to look at him in stunned surprise.  "Uh...wha'?"  He had never heard Tong raise his voice.   In fact, he rarely spoke at all.  
  
Perhaps he had been saving it up.  The pandaren launched into a tirade that not even the Black Prince could interrupt.  "Talk! Talk! Talk!  Always you speak.  Never do you listen!  You ignore the lessons of Pandaria!   You see, there is balance in all things.  Wisdom etched in our very fur: black and white, darkness and light."  He pointed to the dark rings around his eyes.   "When the last emperor hid our land from the rest of the world, he also preserved the homeland of our ancient enemy, the mantid.  Why did he do this?"

Wrathion felt like he was back at Xuen's temple, being quizzed on the nature of strength.  He opened his mouth to attempt an answer, but Tong did not give him a chance.

"He did so to keep the land whole!" he said, pointing out the window.  "Living with the mantid for ten thousand years has made us both _strong_.  So it is with your Alliance and your Horde.  They are not strong despite one another; they are strong _because_ of one another.  You mistake your greatest strength for weakness.  Do you see this?"

A lecture about such lofty ideals was the last thing Wrathion needed to hear at that moment.  "You..." he sputtered.  "You're just a _waiter!_ "  He turned back to the human mage but addressed his next comment to anyone within earshot.  "I promise you this: I will stop at nothing to prepare this world for the battle to come.  Next time, I will leave _nothing_ to chance.  _Nothing_!"  He bellowed the last word as loudly as he could, shifted into his true form, and fled out the front door of the tavern as fast as his frustratingly small wings would carry him.

 

* * *

 

Wrathion instinctively headed for Mason's Folly, where he usually did his heavy thinking, but before he landed he realized that wouldn't do.   Not now.  He had met with champions there, imbued their rewards with magic, made grand speeches about how they would change the world...  Folly, indeed.

Besides, it was the first place everyone would think of to look for him, and he needed to be alone.  He wheeled around and flew just south of due west, giving the tavern a wide berth.  

At first he pressed on blindly, neither knowing nor caring where he was going.  When his wings burned with fatigue and his chest heaved for breath, he swooped down to land on the nearest tree and found himself looking down into the Vale of Eternal Blossoms.

"Eternal" was perhaps the wrong word for the valley now.  Once-beautiful slopes of delicate golden flowers had been replaced with churned-up earth, gouges taken out of the landscape as if a gigantic gardener had tilled the soil to prepare for a garden.  But nothing would grow here, now.  Sha energy had leeched the color from the land.  Smoky tendrils of white flickered across the ashen ground, the only movement in a dead scene.

The Vale was broken, defiled, ruined.  Just like all of his plans.

Wrathion spotted a bandicoot scurrying near the base of the tree, and he dropped down like a lightning bolt.  The critter had no time to react before the whelp's claws pierced its sides, and serrated teeth chomped down on its neck.   Death came swiftly, but Wrathion continued to attack the furry creature with unrestrained aggression.  He flayed the bandicoot to shreds, indiscriminately slicing, gnawing and tearing until the grass all around was slick with gore.  In between bites he muttered, "Idiots!" and "Fools!" and "Can't they _see_?"

At last his frenzy passed, and he found himself covered in blood, surrounded by bones and small chunks of bandicoot meat.  He scowled at the mess.  It wasn't mutilated too badly to eat, but he had no appetite.  Snorting a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, he looked around for a way clean himself off.  Of course there was no water, magical or otherwise, left in the Vale.

He knew there was a waterfall nearby, on the other side of the cliff, so he soared straight up and over the ridge, then plummeted down the south-facing slope.  On this side, the world was still green and vibrant.  He angled toward the waterfall and let it knock him out of the air, washing him down into a faintly-glowing pool in a chaotic tumble.  Blood billowed off him in pink clouds as he paddled on his stomach over to the edge of the pool, where it cascaded down to the next pond below.  Panting, he hauled himself up onto dry land and sprawled out on the soft grass.

"Idiot king," he snarled to himself.  "I handed him the world on a platter and he walked away from it!  The absolute _fool_!"  He sank his claws into the ground, lashing his tail back and forth in agitation.  "How could he let the opportunity pass him by?   Everything I had heard, all the reports I received, said he hated the orcs and the Forsaken with a passion.  How could he _not_ want to subjugate them?   It's inconceivable!"

He rolled onto his back and thumped his back paws against the ground.  "Anduin, I thought you got all of your peace-loving ridiculousness from your long-dead mother, but apparently I was mistaken.  Your father is an even bigger idealistic coward than you are!  I thought--"  His voice caught in his throat, and when he spoke again it was with less volume.  "I thought I could trust you.  I thought I could count on you.  Isn't that what friendship is?"

Wrathion cleared his throat and sat up, raising his voice again.  "Not that supporting that no-neck cretin Garrosh would have ended any better.  Brash half-wit, trying to weaponize the _sha_ , of all things!"  He glared up the mountainside toward the ruined Vale.  "What did you _think_ was going to happen, you idiot?   Having an undersized head doesn't mean you have to have an undersized brain, too!"

Wrathion fluttered up on a rock to give himself a better view of the Valley of the Four Winds.  "Short-sighted, selfish, ignorant _idiots_ , the lot of you!"  He spread his wings and arched his back to let out a screech of primal frustration.  "Do you even realize how hard I worked to arrange everything?   How many long nights I spent crafting gems, poring over sigils, planning everything down to the finest detail just so you incompetents could mess everything up at the last moment?

"Do you have the slightest linkling how many hours I spent watching you flail about in the Throne of Thunder like drunken hozen chasing butterflies, falling off ledges, getting crushed by falling rocks, and dying to snails-- _snails_ of all things!  Gastropods!  _Really_?"  He gave a breathless, mocking laugh.   "All for the chance to glimpse something useful.  You primitive brutes have no idea what ancient wisdom you stomped right past in your haste to smash a troll's face in!  The traces of the Titans in that complex could have kept me occupied for _years_ , but no!  You dunderheads were too busy playing with turtles to investigate the wonders all around you.  I hope the armaments you looted there serve you well against the Legion.  You'll need them!"

A chill ran down his spine that had nothing to do with his recent dip in the water.  He folded his wings against his back and lowered his voice from a shout to a whisper.  "They're still coming, and we're not ready.   Nothing is ready.  Oh, Titans...  We're doomed."  He bowed his head and closed his eyes.  "I worked so _hard..._ all for nothing.  I was just trying to save the world."  He pouted and looked around, vaguely annoyed that no one was around to soothe his bruised ego.  His voice strengthened into his usual speaking volume.  "Honestly, what's the use of having prophetic visions if you can't use them to avert disaster?  It makes no sense."

He shuffled around to face the waterfall instead of the valley.  "And what in the name of Khaz'goroth's soot-stained nose hairs am I supposed to do _now_?  Start over from scratch?  The Horde is broken, and won't trust me anymore.  The Alliance is too wishy-washy to do what must be done.  I'm not about to turn to the Scourge for help.  I could gather gems for a year and try hiring more goblins, I suppose, but it wouldn't be enough.  I still have my Blacktalons, assuming the Horde races among them won't abandon me after all this..."  He hung his head and sighed.  "I don't know what to do.  I wish--"  He cut himself off and grit his sharp teeth.   

He wouldn't say it aloud, even when he was alone, how much he wanted Fahrad there to support him.  The rogue had given everything, including his own life, so that Wrathion would be able to survive and live up to his great destiny.   He had never felt less worthy of such sacrifice than at that moment.  What was he, really?  A genetic hodgepodge cobbled together by a Titan artifact.  A three-year-old whelp who had never known the warmth of his mother.  A failure of a prince who had reached too far, dreamed too big, and fallen flat on his snout in disgrace.

He needed someone to hold him, to tell him he had done well, that this spectacular failure wasn't his fault, that it wasn't all up to him to save the world, that everything would be all right.

Wrathion hunkered down in the shade of his own wings, hugging himself tightly.  Everything _would_ be all right.  Somehow.

"Stupid Varian," he muttered.  "Stupid Garrosh.  Stupid Horde.  Stupid Alliance."  He hopped down from the rock and kicked a pebble into the water.  "Stupid Shado-Pan."  He kicked another small rock, then another each time he repeated the world "stupid."   

"Stupid sha.  Stupid Old Gods.  Stupid demons.   Stupid mortals.  Stupid mogu.  Stupid trolls.  Stupid mantid.   Stupid Golden Lotus.  Stupid Kirin Tor.  Stupid Sunreavers.  Stupid stupid stupid."  He ran out of easily-kickable pebbles and scuffed his feet in the dirt, stomping around angrily.  "This is not how this was supposed to go _at all_!"

He was whining now, and he didn't even care.  "It was all going so well, I had it all planned out, and then it all fell apart, and it's not fair!"  He took a deep breath and cast flames across a patch of wildflowers.   The blossoms gave off a sweet smell as they blackened and curled into ash.

"There has to be a way," he moaned, flopping down on his behind in the grass.  "It's not fair.  Stupid king.  Stupid mortals."  Having a tantrum wasn't nearly as satisfying without anyone around to sympathize and calm him.  

He doubted he would ever show his face in the Tavern in the Mists again, but it would be a simple matter to have his agents retrieve his things and regroup somewhere else.  Until then, he was utterly alone.

"I tried so hard," he whimpered.  Tears welled up in his red eyes, and he couldn't even make a token effort to stop them.  There was no one around to witness his lapse of dignity, after all.

The Black Prince curled into a tight ball and began to weep.   All his frustration, anger and fear seemed to solidify in his stomach.  He draped one wing over his face and shook with sobs.

He had done his best to be the guardian that Azeroth needed.   He had put aside his own doubts and worked as hard as he possibly could to prepare the world for the coming darkness.  Whenever he despaired at the magnitude of the task, the vision of green fire filling the sky would come back nearly as vividly as it had that first time, and the sheer terror of the scene strengthened his resolve.   Either the world stood united to meet the Legion, or Azeroth would be stripped of life--like the blackened ground left behind by the sha, only on a global scale.

"I don't want to die," he said in between gulping sobs.  "Why can't they all see?  I was just trying to save everyone."   He coughed, choking on the words.  "It wasn't supposed to be this way.   What did I do wrong?  I don't understand."

" _There_ you are!" came a faint voice from high in the air.

He looked up and struggled to see through the blur of tears.   A red blotch was descending rapidly toward him.  That's right.  He still had Cybelastrasza.

The other whelp swooped down to land in front of him.   "I've been looking all over for you," she panted.  "I got back...to the tavern...a little while ago, and...they told me...what happened."

He hurried to wipe the tears from his cheeks and control himself, but it was no use.  They just kept welling up.

"Oh, Wrathion, it's okay," she said, throwing her arms around him.

"No, it's not!" he snapped.  "All my work, all my plans, crumbled to nothing!"  He backed away from her, eyes flashing with anger.

"Well, you wanted the war to end before the Legion came.   That much happened."

"It's not enough!"  He stomped his foot.   "Azeroth must be united under one banner to fight the Legion!  My vision was very clear!"

"What about your other vision?  The one with Anduin and me?  That was more hopeful, right?"

His jaw quivered as he searched for the right words.   "Everything's changed now," he said at last.  "I...  I don't know what's going to happen.  I _hate_ not knowing!"  Another sob slipped out in his vehemence, and he turned his back to her in shame.

"Wrathion," she sighed, laying her head on his shoulder.  "I know this isn't what you wanted.  But the mortal races are resilient.  They have your warnings.  Now that the war is over, they can work to prepare.  All is not lost, just because it didn't go exactly the way you thought it would."

He didn't trust himself to speak without further embarrassing crying, so he just shook his head miserably and slouched.

"You're not perfect.  No one is."

He stiffened his spine and turned his head away.  "I _should_ be."

"What, perfect?" she said with a small laugh, drawing back from his shoulder to move in front of him.  She put a hand under his chin and gently turned his face toward her.

His deep scowl did nothing to stop the tears that still overflowed from his crimson eyes.  "I was created by the Titans to be the _perfect_ black dragon.  I was gifted with tremendous amounts of knowledge and magic.   I..."  He swallowed.  "I can't fail like this.  I just _can't._ "

She gave him a pitying look that did nothing to improve his mood.  "The Titans weren't perfect, either, you know."

He wiped moisture off his cheeks with the back of his paw and avoided eye contact.

Cybela put her paws on his shoulders and smiled.   "You're only three years old."

"That's not an excuse!" he snarled.

"Oh, Wrathion," she said with a tolerant sigh.   She could tell nothing she said would help at the moment, so she merely embraced him tightly and let him cry on her shoulder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Wrathion composed himself and the two whelps had flown to Halfhill, it was nearly sunset.  He refused to be seen in public, worried about the reaction of champions from Horde and Alliance alike, so Cybela went into the inn on his behalf.  She returned shortly with a human Blacktalon agent.  There wasn't a significant town or outpost in Pandaria that wasn't under surveillance by at least one of his people.

Standing on a bridge over the Gilded Fan in the fading light, the Black Prince instructed his agent to go to the Veiled Stair and pass along his written instructions to Left and Right.  They were to gather his possessions, as well as Cybela's, and meet him at the Temple of the Red Crane in Krasarang.

It had been Cybela's suggestion to go there, and Wrathion was too weary to pretend it had been his own idea.  For all the blessings Chi-Ji had given him, hope was in very short supply in his heart at the moment.

When the Blacktalon had departed astride a sleek, dark green hippogryph, Cybela held out an empty grain sack.  "Here, you can hide in this until we get to the inn.  That Blacktalon has a room he won't be using tonight, so..."

Wrathion shrank with a sigh, turning back into a whelp.   He dived into the sack and went limp.

"Just don't move," she said before twisting the top of the bag shut and holding it snugly against her hip.  Halfhill was bustling with activity, and no one paid any special attention to the red-haired blood elf.  Soon they were safely inside the room the Blacktalon had rented in the attic of the inn.  It was clearly one of the cheapest rooms, with a steeply pitched ceiling that made it difficult for a humanoid to stand.  

Cybela set the bag down on the futon, opened it, then shifted into her true body.

Wrathion sneezed twice from the grain dust in the bag, thankfully not igniting anything with his flame breath.  He crawled out, shook himself off, and flopped onto the nearest pillow.  "Let me sleep," he mumbled.  "I don't care when I wake up.  Or _if_ I wake up..."

"Stop that," Cybela said sharply, snorting a wisp of smoke at him.  "Things will look better in the morning."

"Oh?  Will that idiot king have changed his mind and gone back to dismantle the Horde?  Will the Burning Legion have given up on their quest for universal annihilation?"

"No need to be sarcastic," she huffed, pulling a threadbare blanket over him.  "I just meant it's harder to deal with things when you're tired."

Wrathion gave a bitter laugh and rolled to face away from her.   "Yes, I'm sure after a good night's rest I won't mind in the slightest that my life's work has crumbled to dust, leaving the world vulnerable to a demon invasion."

She shook her head but did not push him further.  Instead she crawled under the blanket with him and snuggled against his back.  He made no move to turn around or otherwise acknowledge her presence, but after a few minutes of silence she felt him relax a little.

Cybela was nearly sleeping when she heard soft distress chirps coming from her companion.  Without a word, she held him tighter and made the answering trill in the back of her throat.

At last he turned over, tucking his head under her chin.   The vibrations of her soothing trill directly against his scales soon lulled him to sleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Two small, glowing red eyes were barely visible in the shadows underneath a thick patch of ferns. Had anyone been walking along the narrow strip of beach near the Red Crane's training grounds, they could easily have passed by without noticing, which was exactly as the owner of the eyes intended.

A tiny wisp of smoke rose through the ferns as the figure sighed. He had hoped being out here alone, getting some fresh ocean air, would help him shake the gloom that enshrouded him. So far, he had spent at least an hour staring out to sea, and he felt no less horrid.

Seagulls screeched overhead and enormous crabs wandered in the surf, but otherwise the beach was deserted.

The red eyes drooped shut, and in his mind's eye no living thing stirred under a sky filled with green fire. He came awake with an alarmed snort, then settled back on his stomach in the dirt and fallen leaves. The sun-baked sand a few yards away looked inviting indeed, but for now the privacy of the shade was preferable.

The last thing he needed was some adventurer wandering by. He could just imagine it... "Oh look, it's that failure of a prince! I can't believe we spent all those months running around doing tasks for him. What fools we were!"

The black whelp curled into a tighter ball, trying to make himself even smaller. Maybe he could even disappear.

The sound of flapping wings grew nearer and at first he assumed it was a seagull. Then he caught a hint of draconic scent on the breeze and perked up warily.

Moments later a crimson whelp swooped down to land right in front of his hiding place. "Are you done moping yet?"

"I am not moping. I am...thinking. How did you find me? I picked this fern specifically because its strong scent would mask my own."

"I can sense your life energy," Cybela said smugly.

"Damn reds," he muttered.

As usual, her cheerful mood was impervious to his snark. "Come on back to the temple and have something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," he said purely to be contrary. He was, of course. It was well after noon.

"Some of the Red Crane's initiates were attacked by a tiger this morning. They escaped with only minor injuries and brought the carcass back to the temple. They say we can eat it as long as we leave the hide intact. One of your Blacktalons is skinning it now."

Wrathion's mouth watered. "Well, in that case... Wouldn't want to be rude." He crawled out of the ferns, shook himself to get the bits of dirt and plants off his scales, and flew off without waiting for Cybela. She had no trouble keeping up, however, and they arrived back at Chi-Ji's temple together.

 

The dragons' feast was a bit too messy for the dining hall where the Red Crane's trainees normally ate, so Wrathion and Cybela took their lunch outside to one of the terraces overlooking the Krasarang jungle. Neither whelp spoke much as they tore into the fresh tiger meat, eagerly devouring all the choice bits.

"I'm stuffed," Cybela said with a happy moan, flopping onto her back on the cool stones.

Wrathion picked his teeth with a bone shard, in a slightly better mood now that he had a full stomach. "Well, you can't nag me for not eating enough raw meat for a day or two, at least," he said with a smirk.

"And there's leftovers! Although we ate the best parts already."

Wrathion poked the tiger's skull with his foot. "We should have Left crack that open for us tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Some cultures--many troll tribes, in particular--believe that eating the brains of your enemies will give you insight into how they think."

"You want to know how tigers think?"

"Not particularly, but..." He sighed. "If it works, and I can get my claws on a demon's brain..."

Cybela gawked at him. "You wouldn't!"

He slouched back against a stone pillar. "I have to do something. The Legion is still coming, and there's so much I still don't know."

She tilted her head at him sympathetically.

"I've always had visions to guide me through the major crossroads in my life. Ever since Orgrimmar's fall I've been expecting another, but it's been over a week, and..." He let his voice trail off with a frustrated scowl. "I'm adrift, Cybela. I don't know where I should go or what I should do, and I hate not knowing."

She scooted closer and put an arm around his shoulders. "Maybe that means you should take some time for yourself for once, instead of worrying about the fate of the world."

He sniffed derisively. "Oh, certainly, let me laze around on the beach while demon hordes bear down on Azeroth. I'm sure they'll delay their plans if I explain politely that I really need a vacation."

Cybela rolled her eyes. "You said a protracted siege to topple Thunder Bluff would be acceptable, if need be. Now that isn't necessary, thank goodness, so we can use that time to relax and regroup."

He stood up and shifted into his human form, brushing dust off his jacket before walking toward the main temple. "If I could just trigger another vision somehow..." he muttered.

She resumed her elf body and followed him, shaking her head in worry.

 

Later that day, Cybela opened the door to the room she was sharing with the Black Prince and immediately reeled backward as an overpowering odor assaulted her nostrils. "What the--?" she sputtered before coughing too hard to speak.

"Hello," came a voice that was familiar yet strangely mellow.

She put a hand over her nose and mouth to dull the scent and looked into the room.

Wrathion sat slumped back in a chair with his feet up on a box. His jacket was open in the front to show the fine silk shirt he wore underneath, and his turban lay discarded on the floor nearby.

As Cybela approached she realized the cloying smell was coming from a brown wad of herbs smoldering in a clay dish on the table next to him.

"What is going on in here?" she asked, coughing.

"My dear red sister," Wrathion said dreamily. "How are you this lovely afternoon? Come, sit. Breathe."

"Breathe? Yeah, right!" She hacked and gasped for breath and opened the single window behind him.

"Hey," he protested mildly. "Don't."

"What is that?" she demanded, pointing to the smoking object on the table.

He picked it up awkwardly, his hands not quite as coordinated as usual, and inhaled deeply. "Isn't it amazing? It's like breathing peace and harmony. Anduin would love it. I love it. I love you. I love him. I love everything." His glazed red eyes filled with tears quite suddenly, and he stumbled to his feet to throw his arms around her. "You're so good to me," he sobbed noisily.

"Whoa, whoa, Wrathion," she said, lowering him back into his chair. "I don't know what's in that stuff you're burning but it's making you act really weird."

He had already stopped crying. Instead he started giggling. "You know what's weird? Tauren. They look like cows, but they aren't cows."

She stared at him in complete confusion as he laughed hysterically, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"That's a funny word, too. Cows. Caaaaowwwwzzz." He giggled even harder, wheezing for breath and nearly falling out of his chair.

"Oh, for Titans' sake," Cybela grumbled. She took the burning lump of herbs, clay dish and all, and hurled it out the window.

"Hey!" he whined. "That was mean!" His laughter was gone in an instant, replaced once again by tears of distress. "Why is everyone so mean to me? My own champions beat me up in front of the Celestials! Me, a poor, orphaned whelp! After I gave them such nice things! Stupid King. Stupid Alliance. I hate them. They're stupid, and I hate them."

Cybela tried not to laugh. "Come on, Wrathion. Let's get you some fresh air."

He blubbered and hiccuped as she slung one of his arms over her shoulder and half-walked, half-dragged him out of the room. Fortunately it was a short distance to an open veranda, and she used the last of her strength to maneuver him onto a stone bench.

"I can't save the world. I'm only three!" he said with a keening sob, flopping sideways to lie down on the bench.

"Breathe, Wrathion," she said, waving her hands in front of his face. "Get fresh air in your lungs."

"I want Fahrad," he whined, turning his head away from her.

"Ssh, it's okay," she soothed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"It's all right, Wrathion," she said, stroking his black hair. "Calm down."

"I'm sorry!" He covered his eyes with his forearm as his chest heaved with ragged sobs.

Cybela leaned down and gently moved his arm away from his face. "There, there," she said. "You're okay. It's that funny smoke making you feel this way. It'll get better now."

His bleary eyes widened as if he had just noticed she was there. "No, get away from me!" he yelled, scrambling backward until he slid off the bench and fell hard onto his rear. He cowered behind the bench, ducking his head to hide underneath it. "I'm not your prisoner! Don't hurt me! Leave me alone!"

Cybela looked around to see if anyone was witnessing this, partly because she would have welcomed some help and partly because she knew when he came to his senses again he would be utterly mortified. She turned back to him and held her hands out in a universal "I'm unarmed, I mean no harm" gesture.

"It's all right. Nobody's going to hurt you. You're safe. Take a deep breath."

Wrathion peeked at her over the bench. "What...? I don't know what's happening," he mumbled.

"You inhaled some kind of herbs that made you...strange," she said, taking a step closer. "You'll be okay. Just calm down."

He sat up slowly, clutching his head. "So...dizzy!"

She hurried over and stooped to steady him. "Just sit still. I think it's starting to wear off. Deep breaths now, come on. That's it."

Wrathion's eyes were watering heavily but his gaze was more focused now. "I feel like I'm flying but I'm in my human form so I can't be, but everything's so blurry, and how did I get here?" he rambled, then began to cough. Cybela patted his back as he gasped and shuddered.

When the coughing fit was over, he seemed more lucid. "What in the name of Khaz'goroth's sooty beard happened to me?" he panted.

"There were some weird herbs burning in our room, and they made you kind of crazy."

He stood up very slowly, wobbling with vertigo, and plopped down on the bench. "Phew." He put a hand to his chest and took several deep, steady breaths. "Well. Ahem. Apparently that incense effects dragons a bit more strongly than it does trolls."

"Is that where you got it?"

He nodded. "I consulted a few of my agents, and a former shaman of the Darkspear tribe said that burning that combination of herbs opens the mind to visions and hidden wisdom."

"That is definitely not what it did to you."

He cleared his throat and massaged his forehead. "Ugh. Remind me never to do that again."

"I don't think that will be a problem."

He glanced around, having trouble focusing his eyes. "Did anyone see me like that?"

"No."

"Good, good." He turned to her. "Except lucky you, who once more gets to see me at my most pathetic. I apologize."

She smiled and embraced him. "That's what big sisters are for."

"You're not that much older than I am."

"Doesn't matter. I'm still older."

Wrathion pursed his lips. "Is there any of that tiger meat left? I'm ravenously hungry all of a sudden."

Cybela shrugged. "I'll go see. Don't move from this bench until I get back."

He coughed once more and stayed put.

 

"Letter for you, my prince," came the husky voice of a worgen.

Wrathion looked up from his breakfast of crab meat. His draconic mouth was too full to speak properly so he motioned for her to set the envelope on the table. The Blacktalon did so, bowing obediently before backing out of the prince's chamber. He was eating alone, as Cybela had long since awoken and gone about her day. Wrathion slept much later than usual as the last of the grogginess from the previous day's herbal experiment wore off.

Still chewing, he fluttered across the table to get a closer look at the letter. It was fine stationery, clearly not made of the rice paper common in Pandaria, and the wax seal was stamped with the lion insignia of Stormwind.

Anduin.

The other prince's first communication since the fall of Orgrimmar. 

Wrathion nearly choked in his hurry to finish the mouthful of food. As soon as he was able to swallow, he shifted back into his human form and tore open the envelope.

"Dear Wrathion," he read. "I hope this letter finds you well. I am sure word of the events in Orgrimmar has reached you by now, and I imagine you have mixed feelings. On one hand, the war is over and will no longer be a distraction or a drain on resources that we need to prepare for the Legion's arrival. On the other, I know how strongly you felt about facing them with a united front. I truly believe everything will work out for the best, though. Azeroth has repelled the Legion before with less forewarning."

"But this time is different!" Wrathion said aloud. His hands were shaking so much it was hard to read the letter, so he set it down on the table to continue.

"I am so proud of my father for the wisdom and restraint he showed in Orgrimmar. I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I was when he chose peace."

"Oh, I can imagine," Wrathion grumbled with a disdainful sneer.

"The people of the Horde deserve to be free, and to live as they choose. The important thing about the Alliance is that we all chose to be a part of it. Conquering the Horde and forcing them to join us would be against everything the Alliance stands for. We would become an empire, not an alliance--no better than the mogu."

"The mogu got things done!" Wrathion snarled, pounding on the table with one fist. "This isn't a niceness contest, Anduin, this is about the fate of the world!"

The letter continued, "My father and I, and the rest of the leaders from both factions, will be at the Temple of the White Tiger for Hellscream's trial next week. I would like very much for you to join us, to see him brought to justice, and to see the people of Azeroth gathering for a common cause. I think it would ease some of your fears--"

"I'm not afraid," he mumbled defensively.

"--to see that, even as separate factions, we can peacefully work for the greater good of the world."

Wrathion snorted flame, narrowly avoiding the parchment. "Greater good? Ha! What does an idealistic dreamer like you know about the greater good?"

"I hope to see you there. Fond regards, His Majesty Anduin L. Wrynn, Prince of Stormwind," the letter concluded.

The dragon re-read it all, shaking his head. "Oh, Anduin," he sighed. "This is all so...you. Peace and unity and optimism... Fine ideals, when destiny is kind enough to make them possible."

His initial anger soon dulled into a mixture of loneliness for his friend, and a weary acceptance of the fact that Anduin Wrynn would never think like a dragon. It wasn't that Wrathion didn't want peace and harmony. He just saw the bigger picture, and knew that such a state would never have the chance to exist if the world wasn't prepared to repel the Burning Legion.

No, he realized, it wasn't that Anduin didn't think like a dragon. It was that he didn't think like an Earth Warder.

But then, no one else did.

Wrathion folded up the letter and slipped it into an interior pocket of his jacket. Very well. Once again it fell to him to see that Azeroth was protected, no matter how unpleasant the process.

"I had my own father killed. I can handle disappointing one starry-eyed human prince," he muttered to himself on his way out the door.

 

Later that day Wrathion overheard one of his Blacktalons bemoaning the fact that her favorite dagger had broken. Eager for something to do to keep his mind off less pleasant matters, he offered to repair and improve the blade in question. 

The sweltering tropical afternoon was uncomfortably hot to most people, but quite pleasant to a dragon. The Black Prince sat cross-legged on a terrace that faced east, into the deep jungles of Krasarang. He had left his turban in his room, letting the warm breeze play through his hair. The broken dagger lay on the stone floor in front of him, glowing with fiery energy. His eyes were half-closed as he willed the metals in the dagger to reform. The tip of the weapon had been snapped off and the blade bent, but it was simple enough to coax the steel into new shapes. 

He could have made the dagger serviceable again in mere minutes, but he was enjoying the distraction so he idly etched intricate designs into the metal. A shard of pure heat danced over the blade, creating swirling patterns that would have taken a magnifying glass to be truly appreciated.

"Yer Majesty?" The voice belonged to one of his Blacktalon guards, a female dwarf.

He sighed and opened his eyes fully, letting the fiery glow dissipate. "Yes?"

"Ye have a visitor."

Wrathion perked up and looked over his shoulder. "Oh?" He both hoped and dreaded it might be Anduin.

"Kairozdormu of the Timewalkers," she said formally.

He raised an eyebrow. That was unexpected. A friendly face would certainly be welcome, if only the bronze hadn't come to berate him for his failure to unite the Alliance and the Horde... "I will see him," he said at last. He got to his feet and brushed dust off his pantaloons.

The Blacktalon disappeared into the temple, and a few moments later a familiar high elf form strode onto the terrace. "Young prince," Kairoz said warmly. "It is good to see you again."

"You also," Wrathion said with a nod. "I trust all is well on the Timeless Isle?"

"The Isle is unchanging," he replied mildly. "I have heard that things in the rest of the world are not so."

Wrathion looked away uncomfortably. "Not everything has gone according to plan," he admitted.

Kairoz stepped forward to lean on the stone railing, peering into the dense jungle. "I'm sure that's been rather disheartening for you."

Wrathion joined him, also fixing his gaze on the greenery instead of making eye contact. "To say the least," he said quietly. "The world must be united to face the Legion."

"Yes, it must," the bronze said. "I understand you are quite skilled in blacksmithing and metallurgy."

Wrathion turned to frown at him, confused by the sudden change of topic. "Yes. I have the powers over the element of earth that the Titans originally granted to my flight."

"Then you are familiar with how something can be melted, folded, bent, beaten, compressed...and emerge stronger than before."

"Of course."

"The people of Azeroth are the same."

Wrathion blew a dismissive puff of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Yes, yes, I've heard that platitude before," he said, thinking of Tong's ill-timed advice. "The factions are stronger because they have to fight each other, blah blah blah. That's not what my vision said. We must be united into one force. It's the only way."

"Agreed," Kairoz said placidly.

"So what...?"

"You are too young to remember the other times the Legion attacked Azeroth, at Hyjal and through the Sunwell. Or the war against the Qiraji. Or the campaign against the Lich King."

Wrathion scowled and opened his mouth to complain about his age being used against him yet again, but Kairoz did not give him a chance to get a word in.

"Those threats were on such a grand scale that most of Azeroth's diverse peoples temporarily laid aside their differences to defend the world."

"I can't stand by and assume that will happen again! We cannot scramble at the last moment to put up a united front against the Legion. We must be prepared!"

"Indeed. If only there was a new global threat that everyone would band together to repel..." Kairoz seemed to be speaking hypothetically, but there was a devious glint to his eyes that did not escape Wrathion's notice.

He watched the bronze out of the corner of his eye, considering the possibilities such an ally might bring to the table. "Like what?" he asked at last.

Kairoz gave a thin smile and glanced around to make sure they were alone. "The first Alliance was formed in response to the orcish invasion through the Dark Portal. If a similiar but even greater danger, hostile to Horde and Alliance alike, were to emerge in such a way... Well, history has a funny way of repeating itself sometimes."

The prince narrowed his eyes. "And if the people of Azeroth are not strong enough in their current, fractured state to repel this new foe?"

"Then the world will still be united under one banner when the Legion arrives. Just not a banner you are familiar with at the moment." Kairoz's voice was calm and matter-of-fact as he spoke of untold thousands of Azerothian lives being lost as civilizations were trampled into the dust. "And I can guarantee that this third party will be just as fiercely opposed to the Burning Legion as we are."

Wrathion could only imagine Cybela's reaction to such a development, and the potential fate of Anduin and his kingdom were too grim to contemplate. Yet an instinct deep inside reminded him that preserving the planet was all that truly mattered. 

Earth Warder... He had a solemn duty. No one ever said it would be easy.

Perhaps sensing his unease, the bronze said, "If all goes as planned, most of the fighting won't even take place on Azeroth. Our world's armies would return victorious and united, with minimal bloodshed on our own soil."

Wrathion pursed his lips. That did make it a bit more palatable, he supposed.

Kairoz edged closer. "You're a highly intelligent dragon, Your Majesty. Surely you can see the wisdom in this."

Wrathion looked out at the jungle again, mind racing. It could work. It made sense. It was a gamble, but better than doing nothing... He thought for another moment before saying, "I assume you've peered into the future and found this to be the best course of action."

"My flight's view is cloudy, now, but from what I can tell--and I assure you I've been exploring the possibilities for quite some...time." He smirked. "This is Azeroth's best chance in the long run. The conflict will be bloody, of course. Wars always are. But you have proven yourself able to see past such short-term details in order to focus on the big picture. What you have accomplished is a testament to your skills and dedication."

"What I have accomplished amounts to far too little," he said with a self-deprecating grimace.

"What we can accomplish together amounts to far more," Kairoz countered. "Let me help you, Black Prince. Remember, the different dragonflights must also band together now." He laid a hand on Wrathion's back. "The Titans meant for us all to protect Azeroth. The burden was never meant for one flight, or one dragon, alone."

Wrathion felt the uniquely draconic warmth of the bronze's hand through his tunic, and silently considered. Was this the answer he'd been looking for? He hadn't had a vision specifically telling him to ally with Kairoz, but his last vision indicated that ties to the other flights were important.

He turned to look Kairoz right in the eyes, drawing himself up to his mortal form's full height. "Let's talk," he said with a meaningful nod.

Kairoz grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end…for now.
> 
> [Spoilers for War Crimes ahead.]
> 
> Until we know more about what Wrathion and Kairoz are up to, I’ve decided to leave things here. War Crimes tells us some of what they do, but there is still so much unknown.
> 
> Were the events that set Warlords of Draenor in motion all Kairoz’s ideas? How much of it was Wrathion’s? Or were they Kairoz’s ideas that he cleverly made the prince believe were his own? We now know that Wrathion is on alt-Draenor, but past the incident at Admiral Taylor's garrison we know absolutely nothing about where he is, what he's doing, if he's still working toward any of Kairoz's goals, if he has Blacktalons with him, or what his agenda is.
> 
> And that’s not even getting into what his relationship with Cybela will be like after all this. She’s not going to be any happier than Anduin was…
> 
> Without knowing the whys, whens, wheres and hows it’s difficult to extrapolate, and anything I come up with would be negated by canon the next time Wrathion shows up.
> 
> So for now we must leave our royal whelp here, poised at the literal crossroads of history, about to embark on a scheme that is either brilliant or disastrous, or a little of both…
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my stories! I hope they were as enjoyable to read as they were to write.


End file.
